


One Gaudy Night

by Sarahtoo



Series: One Gaudy Night [1]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-20
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-15 02:12:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 40,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5767351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahtoo/pseuds/Sarahtoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack and Phryne have their "one gaudy night" at Guy and Isabella's engagement party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fire_Sign](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/gifts).



> This fic started as a discussion about whether Jack and Phryne could have had their gaudy night without it breaking the Phrack. I was of the opinion that it *could* be written in such a way that the Phrack would not break, and Fire_Sign dared me. It’s now 13 chapters, and I blame her. I hope you all enjoy it!

Jack stood outside Prudence Stanley’s home, his heart aching. He was no longer a married man. He was, instead, a bearer of broken vows—he’d promised to be with Rosie till death, but both of them were very much alive. He struggled with the sense of relief that battled with the pain. This would be for the best, at least for Rosie—she deserved to find a man who would cherish her, and Jack just couldn’t be that man anymore. The war had changed him in ways she couldn’t imagine, and Phryne Fisher had changed him even more. And though he hadn’t been unfaithful to Rosie in body, he had succumbed to Phryne in his mind countless times.

And now here he was, having come straight from court, the ink barely dry on his divorce decree, to partner Miss Fisher at her cousin’s engagement fete. He let out a sigh and mounted the stairs. This was probably a bad idea.

He stood in the front hall, waiting for Miss Fisher to be informed of his arrival, and watching the other partygoers. Good grief, some of these costumes would be illegal if they were worn anywhere but in a private home. Isabella’s Lady Godiva was positively indecent—and she kept “accidentally” pushing the ends of her long blonde wig back over her shoulder and baring her breasts, which were then covered only by a sheer body stocking. And Guy would then “help” her to “restore her modesty,” with much stroking and squeezing as he accomplished it. Jack’s eyebrows raised quickly, and he tilted his head a little—the only change in his expression as he watched them repeat this exchange twice in the five minutes he waited.

“Jack, you made it,” Jack turned his head to see Phryne approaching from down the hall. He froze for a moment, looking at her. She wore white, mostly, a bandeau that covered her small breasts and a long wrapped skirt that faithfully followed the lines of her hips and thighs before flaring slightly around her knees; as she walked, her legs were revealed to mid-thigh by the skirt’s slit. Her stomach appeared to be bare—he saw as she got closer that it was covered in netting, but the appearance was what mattered. Her neck was encircled by a collar made of gold buttons, and she wore a golden headdress over her glossy cap of hair. Her eyes were heavily kohled, and she’d added purple to her lids; her red lips completed the image of seduction. He forced himself to speak.

“Cleopatra, Queen of the Nile?” His voice was gravelly, and he swallowed to try and smooth it out.

“Very good,” she said, her voice sweet and her smile sultry as she came to stand before him, just a few inches closer than she should, as always. _Damn it,_ he thought, _she’d seen him admiring her_. But her tone was brisk as she went on to discuss business. “I assume Hugh told you about our interview with Mrs Truebody?”

“He did,” Jack still couldn’t quite manage his usual calm. She was breathtaking, and she smelled so good.

“Good. I can fill you in on the rest,” her businesslike tone shifted again to flirty. She stepped in closer to stroke his lapels. Unable to form words, he tilted his head at her inquiringly. “But first,” she went on, “you need a costume.”

_Oh god, what now?_ he thought. _Will I ever be able to anticipate this woman?_ He turned to follow her down the hall. Without her facing him, he found himself able to speak again, though his eyes drifted down her body, noting that her buttocks were delineated quite clearly through the snug fabric of her skirt.

“A costume, Miss Fisher? I’m sure that won’t be necessary.”

She turned to look at him as she hurried up a set of stairs and down another hall, where she opened a door to one side of the long corridor. He entered the room behind her, his steps lagging as he spied the bed. The bed. He was in a room with Phryne Fisher, alone, and there was a bed. He swallowed and skirted around to put the thing at his back. Leaning against the footboard and clasping his hands together over his groin just in case his body betrayed him, he watched her bend to open a trunk. The skirt of her costume really was very faithful to her curves. He forced his eyes up, noting the fastenings down the back of her gown. Those would be relatively easy to… He shook himself slightly, realizing she was speaking.

“How can you protest when you have no idea what it is I have in mind?” Phryne smiled as she spoke. She could feel him watching her—she might possibly have bent that way just to see if he’d peruse her… assets—and it sent a delicious shiver down her spine. Jack’s voice stroked along her back as she turned to face him.

“Because nine times out of ten, what you have in mind gives me grief,” his voice was dry, and Phryne, looking at him, realized that his eyes were tired. “There’s nothing wrong with the way I’m dressed! I’m perfectly disguised as a police detective.” He was trying for the bantering tone of their usual default, but to her ear, it fell a bit flat.

“You won’t detect much in a crowd this fast in a blue wool suit and tie,” Phryne replied. She could tell that he was a little off this evening; perhaps she could tease him back into his usual self. She drew the garment bag off the costume and held it up triumphantly. “I kept this aside for you.” She bent sideways to pick up a helmet with an enormous bristled brush on top. Jack’s eyebrows rose just for a moment, but he kept his face otherwise impassive.

“A passable Marc Antony, if we pilfer that sword on display in the billiard room.” she smiled at Jack, who’d stood up from his comfortable lean, his hands falling to his sides and surprise showing on his face. Perhaps he hadn’t realized that she truly intended for him to be her escort tonight?

“So I’m to be the… triple pillar of the world transformed into a strumpet’s fool?” He twisted as he spoke to watch her as she moved to lay the costume on the bed behind him.

“You’ve been at least a single pillar for far too long,” was her retort. She came back around to stand in front of him, her hands reaching to loosen his tie. “No one will know who you are,” she soothed, moving to unbutton the top buttons of his shirt.

Jack swallowed, fighting for words. “Except you,” he managed through a throat suddenly tight with desire.

“Come on, Jack,” she smiled at him, her hands busy at his waistcoat buttons now, “just one gaudy night?” As she said it, her eyes met his, and the sly grin eased off of her face. His eyes were terribly sad, almost bruised, but they conveyed all of the desire she’d known he felt—she had never seen it blazing so hot.

When he spoke, his voice was a murmur. “If you really want a roman soldier,” her eyes dropped to his mouth, mesmerised by their movement and the heat between them, “then I’ll take it from here.” Her hands stilled, holding the sides of his waistcoat, her body only inches from him, and her eyes on his mouth.

“But I don’t want a roman soldier, Jack,” Phryne whispered. “I want you.” The breath he drew in was ragged, but he didn’t move.

“I divorced my wife this afternoon, Phryne,” he said, his own voice so low she had to strain to hear it. “I can’t start something new. Not today.” Her heart siezed. No wonder he seemed to carry so much weight this evening. She knew that a man whose attitude toward marriage was as honorable as Jack’s would be tormented by the dissolution of one, even if it was for the best.

“Then let’s keep it about what we already have,” she said, taking a half-step forward to press herself against him. “Friendship. And perhaps comfort?”

“Just one gaudy night, then nothing more?” He lifted a hand to cup her jaw.

“Just one night,” she agreed, “and then we are as we were before—partners and friends.”

He hesitated, his thumb stroking the apple of her cheek as his eyes searched hers. Then, carefully, he nodded. His other hand rose to pull off her headdress, and his mouth covered hers with a moan. Phryne’s hands slid around him, inside his waistcoat, and she pressed her body to his as she kissed him, her tongue sliding against his. He tasted remarkably good, she thought, and his hand on her face tilted her to the perfect angle for their mouths to align.

He moved to wrap his arms around her and they spun, rounding the high footboard to stand beside the bed. She stroked her hands down to cup his arse—firm and muscular, as she’d known it would be—before bringing them back around to finish unbuttoning his shirt. She felt his fingers unfasten her gold button collar; he slid it from around her neck and discarded it, and then his mouth was on her throat.

He opened his mouth against her neck, kissing and nibbling as his fingers worked to undo the back of her gown. If he gave himself a moment to think, he wouldn’t do this, and he couldn’t believe how much he wanted her. Anything between himself and Phryne was bound to be transitory, he knew. They’d just get it out of the way and go back to friendship. He’d managed to unfasten her dress all the way down to her hips, and when he reached the last hook, he put his hands on her beautiful bottom. She moaned when he kneaded her, and then she was pushing his shirt, waistcoat, jacket, and braces—leaving only the pullover singlet he wore—back over his shoulders.

“Jack, take these off,” she said, breathless. He pulled his hands away, shrugging the clothing off, his jacket and waistcoat falling to the floor and his shirt tangling behind him in his braces. She echoed his move, her fingers peeling the straps of her loosened dress over her shoulders; it sagged around her waist, but he didn’t see it. All he saw was her luminous skin and her lovely unbound breasts. With a groan, he touched them, dipping his head to wrap his lips around one nipple. Phryne gasped, her hands flying up to grasp his head, her fingers spearing into his hair. He suckled hard at her nipple before switching to the other, licking it before drawing it between his lips. His hands slid to her hips, pushing the dress down to pool around her feet. She wore only the smallest of knickers, her stockings held up by ribbons at her thighs, and her small golden slippers.

Jack lifted his head to look at her, and Phryne was captivated by the sight of his lips, reddened with the suction he’d used on her breasts. She grasped his hair and brought his mouth to hers; while she kissed him, she dropped her hands to his waistband, fingers sure upon the fastenings, until she could slide her hand inside and stroke him through his smalls. His mouth stuttered open, and he removed his hands from her body to strip off his singlet and kick off his shoes. Phryne cooed at the sight of his broad, muscled chest, reaching to stroke it as he hooked his thumbs in his trousers and underwear and pushed them down, sweeping his socks off along with them.

When he stood again, completely nude, she caught her breath. Jack’s body was beautiful. His shoulders were almost absurdly wide, his waist incredibly narrow. His arms were muscular, with streamlined swimmer’s biceps, and his thighs were thick and strong. She trailed her fingers down his chest to touch the muscles of his stomach lightly, and from there, down farther to curl her hand around his cock where it stood, hard and long, at the juncture of his thighs. She slid her thumb over his cockhead, pressing at the underside with a long stroke. He breathed in shakily through his mouth, and she looked up at his face. His hair, mussed from her fingers, flopped onto his forehead, and his eyes were dark with lust. Holding his eyes, she licked her lips and slowly dropped to her knees.

“Phryne, what— ooohhh, god, oh god, ooohhh gooood,” his head fell back momentarily as she took him in her mouth, his surprise morphing into pleasure. She kept her eyes on him, watching as he flailed one hand out, searching for something to hold, and then brought it down to her head. He opened his eyes with what appeared to be some effort and tilted his head down to watch her slide her head up and down his cock. She slid one hand to his base, loving the feel of him sliding over her tongue and bumping against the roof of her mouth. She sucked hard, pulling against him as she drew her head back, and was rewarded by an incoherent groan, so she slid back down his length and did it again.

“Phryne, I’m going to—” he pulled lightly at her hair, drawing his hips back, but she moved a hand to his arse to hold him in place. Meeting his eyes, she nodded slightly, then sucked hard as she pulled back from him again. She loved to watch men come apart while she pleasured them, and Jack was no exception. His face, usually so composed, had blushed red, and he’d caught his lower lip between his teeth. He watched her with hooded eyes as she slicked down his length again, and when her hand dropped to cup and fondle his balls, squeezing them softly as she continued to work his shaft with her mouth, he moaned. She could feel his thigh tensing against her forearm, and she readied herself—when she pushed down his length to take the head of his cock to the back of her throat, swallowing to massage it with her throat muscles, he went over, his hands clenching in her hair and stomach muscles contracting. She slid back a little, drinking him down in greedy gulps, and then licking around him until his shaking stopped.

Standing, she pressed herself against him and brought her mouth to his. This was a test that had eliminated further contact with a few past lovers—she believed that if a man couldn’t take the taste of his own semen in her kiss, he didn’t deserve to have her suck his cock. Jack passed with flying colors, licking his tongue into her mouth and wrapping her in his arms, one hand dropping to her ass and the other keeping her upper body pressed to his.

Turning them, he hitched her up onto the bed, then pulled away, his hands on her hips tugging at her knickers to pull them off, leaving her stockings in place. She kicked off her golden shoes and snaked backward on the bed, but he grasped her hips and pulled her back almost to the edge. Realizing his intention, Phryne lifted one leg to press her heel into the mattress, and stretched the other wide, exposing her dripping sex to the cool air of the room.

It was Jack’s turn to lick his lips, and he knelt down beside the bed, his hands sliding under her bottom. He pressed his mouth to her inner thigh, kissing and licking his way up to the tendon that connected her thigh to her mons, where he sucked lightly. Phryne whimpered, her hips shifting in his hands, and he gripped her buttocks to keep her still. With a glance up at her—her eyes were closed, and she had stretched one hand above her head and placed the other on her breast—he moved over to wrap his lips around her clit, suckling at the nubbin of flesh. Phryne’s whimper became a keen, and Jack dropped to press his tongue inside her body, swiveling and swirling as he licked up her juices. Shifting one hand, he licked back up to her clit, pressing two fingers into her as he did. His other hand came around under her thigh to press against her pelvis, keeping her writhing hips in place as he nibbled and licked, pumping into her with his fingers. She slid her thigh over his shoulder, her silk-wrapped heel digging into his back, and he could feel the muscles of her leg quivering against the side of his neck. Adding a third finger to the two, he began curling them slightly on each pull, thrusting in, then dragging out.

Phryne’s awareness narrowed down to Jack’s hands and mouth between her legs, his palm pressing lightly at the top of her mound, his fingers slicking in and out of her body, and his lips sucking and nibbling at her clitoris. She twisted her nipple strongly, her shoulders pressing from side to side against the bed as she felt an orgasm approaching. When she realized that she was chanting his name—“Jack, Jack, Jack, JackJackJackJaaaack!”—it was as if the dam burst. Pleasure shot through her, stiffening her muscles and drawing a wail from her chest. Jack stayed where he was as she rode the aftershocks, his fingers still pumping gently between her legs, his head up and watching her as she arched against the bed. When her shaking subsided, he stood, and she saw that he was hard again.

“Do you have a French letter?” His voice was rough and his eyes were hot.

She gestured weakly to the table beside the bed, and he turned to open the drawer. It held a small black clamshell case and a box of French letters. _This must be her room,_ he realized. _And she’d brought him here to change?_ He pulled a packet from the box, unwrapped it, and rolled it over his cock. Phryne watched him, her muscles lax. When he was sheathed, he moved back over to where she still lay, sideways on the bed, her legs dangling. He tilted his head at her and smiled slightly—oh, that expression got her every time—before he grasped her hips and flipped her over. With a  small “oh!” Phryne wiggled down a little until she could get her feet under her, raising herself up on her elbows, and nudging her bottom toward him. Jack stroked her arse and up her back, then positioned his feet between hers, nudging hers out a little to give himself a bit more room.

He entered her in one hard thrust, his hands on her hips, and Phryne’s breath came out in a gust. She dropped her head against the mattress, the feel of his hard length impaling her enough to give her another tiny orgasm. And then he began to pump against her, withdrawing almost all the way, then pushing hard back in, over and over. She wished she could see his face, knowing that his concentration on the motions of his body would be incredibly erotic. When he sped up, it took a moment for them to find a rhythm, her hips pulling and pushing against him as he pushed and pulled against her. But find it they did, until Jack lifted one knee to press into the mattress, pushing her thigh up and out to the side. He continued to thrust into her, his hands sliding up to cup her breasts, his fingers pulling and pinching at her nipples. She felt his mouth touch her neck, his tongue lapping at her, and she lifted one arm to grasp his head to pull him closer. He reached to kiss her mouth, and then she was turning, his hard cock falling out of her as she rolled to her back.

Without taking his mouth from hers, Jack climbed all the way up onto the bed, then reached between them to position his cock and push into her again; Phryne raised her knees to his waist as he began to pound into her. Their mouths remained connected for a long moment, Jack’s tongue pressing in and out in a rhythm identical to that of his hips. When he broke the kiss it was to drop his mouth to meet his hand on her breast, his tongue on her nipple causing Phryne’s fingers to flex in his hair. She pushed against him to roll again, both of them this time, so that she was straddling Jack. Sitting up, she continued their rhythm, her hips rising and falling against him; he pushed himself up too, one hand flat on the mattress, and went back to her breasts, alternating his kisses between them. Phryne slid her hands up to his nipples, pulling and twisting them, and he bucked his hips with a shout, shuddering against her; she ground down against the pulses of his orgasm, her clit rubbing hard against the base of his cock and sending her over as well.

Phryne collapsed against Jack, whose bracing hand had failed him, and he brought both arms up to hold her against his chest, his softening penis still snugly within her body. Their mouths met, but tenderly now, and Jack stroked her back with his warm hands. When they could move, Phryne rolled off of Jack, her hand catching the base of the condom to make sure it stayed on, and Jack reached down to take over. He laughed quietly.

“Even your hand on me right now won’t get us going again,” he rumbled at her, and she was relieved to see that the stricken look from earlier in the evening had been replaced by a quietly wry smile.

“I think that was definitely worth taking the moment, though, don’t you?” She smiled at him as he got up to dispose of the condom, then rose herself, searching for her knickers. She found them draped over the end of the bed and wandered over to the washbasin to clean herself up before putting them on. Jack joined her, wiping his face and his body down, his eyes smiling at her.

“Definitely worth it,” he said softly, then sobered. “Thank you, Phryne.”

“That’s what friends are for, Jack,” she said softly, laying a hand on his chest. He laughed at that, and she smiled up at him.

“Do you feel better?” Her eyes were bright and warm as she looked at him.

“I do,” he replied. “Should we go make an appearance at this party?”

“Mmm, probably,” she patted him lightly before turning away. “Would you help me back into my dress?”

With a laugh, he did, and he was almost dressed himself, absentmindedly donning his blue wool suit again, when Phryne found the envelope on the bedside table and the frantic search for Jane began.


	2. Chapter 2

Between the search for and finding of Jane, Jack didn’t have time to think about what had happened between himself and Phryne for hours. In fact, it wasn’t until he was back in his small house after making sure that Wardlow was locked up tight for the night that he realized he’d never gotten himself completely dressed. His tie lay loosely around his neck, his waistcoat was completely unbuttoned, and the first two buttons of his shirt collar hung open. He grimaced, hoping that his constable hadn’t noticed anything. He supposed he could say that he’d been in the process of changing into his costume when Phry— _Miss Fisher_ , he reminded himself, _best to keep a little distance in this story_ —had come to find him with the ribbon. Perhaps he’d find a way to casually mention that when he was back at the station tomorrow. Nodding to himself, he put on his pajamas and got into bed.

Lying there, he let himself remember the feeling of Phryne’s skin under his lips and hands, and the warmth of her as he’d pushed himself into her body. Just one gaudy night, they’d promised each other, and that would be for the best. Now he knew what it was to feel her beneath him, above him, around him. That would be enough, he thought. He slid down under the covers, a smile playing across his face as he remembered how it had felt.

Feeling himself harden again at the thought of her mouth on his cock, Jack pushed his pajamas down, taking himself in hand and beginning to stroke himself. The memory of Phryne’s taste in his mouth and the taste of himself on her tongue was enough to send him shuddering into release after only a few hard, twisting pulls of his cock. Panting in the aftermath of orgasm, he stripped off his pajama top and used it to wipe himself clean, then closed his eyes for sleep.

*****

Phryne locked the door after Jack and leaned against it. Foyle was back, and it appeared that he’d targeted Jane. Her mouth tightened with determination. She would speak to Jane in the morning and see if he’d said anything that could lead Phryne to him. This terror needed to end.

Listening to the sounds of the quiet house as she went upstairs, Phryne felt some gratitude for all of her small family, and for Jack for helping her to keep them safe. She moved slowly into her bedroom, finding Dot there, laying out her nightclothes.

“Oh, thank you, Dot,” she said tiredly. “I was just realizing that I would need help to get out of this gown.”

“I thought you might, miss,” Dot replied with her sweet smile. She came closer to Phryne. “Turn around and I’ll undo you.” Phryne obeyed, holding the front of the dress up as Dot made short work of the fastenings down the back. “Oh miss, you’ve got a bruise just here,” Dot said, touching the curve of Phryne’s neck. Phryne smiled a little, glancing at the small round mark and considering what it must be—Jack had left a memento of their gaudy night.

“It’s nothing, Dot,” she said, glad for her friend’s naivete. “I must have bumped into something. I don’t even feel it.” Dot nodded.

“Would you like a bath before bed, miss?”

“Oh, that would be heaven, Dot,” Phryne practically groaned, moving behind her dressing screen to pull off the gown and her underthings and pull on her favorite black silk robe. She noticed that her nipples were tender, and, now that she thought about it, so was her clit. Jack certainly was skilled at sexual suction, she thought. It was too bad she’d promised him just the one night. They might have enjoyed each other a few more times before she tired of him in the boudoir. She always tired of men in the boudoir, it seemed, and there were very few who made the trip up her stairs more than once. She thought that Jack might just have been one of them, but alas, it was not to be.

She came around the screen to find the tub full and steaming fragrantly with one of her favorite scents. Dot had left a pair of fluffy towels on a stool beside the bath, and Phryne gratefully shucked her robe and stepped into the water. Sliding down, she found her mind veering toward Foyle and his plans, and felt herself tensing. Breathing deeply, she forced herself to focus on something else—anything else, really. The first thing that came to mind was Jack.

Dear Jack. He had looked so shattered when he first arrived at Aunt P’s, she thought. His explanation that he’d come straight from court had made it clear that he was hurting. Ramping up her flirtation into seduction had been all she could think to do to bring him back from the edge he seemed to be walking. She was honestly a little surprised that he’d allowed it, and more surprised at just how good it had felt. She stroked her fingers over her breast, soothing the soreness with the warmth of the water and remembering the warmth of his mouth there. She then trailed her hand down between her legs, working her tender flesh gently, her mind replaying the way he’d kissed and touched her there. Before long, she was writhing with pleasure, her head resting on the edge of the tub, her neck arching as she pleasured herself. When she came, she moaned his name.

*****

When they faced each other over Foyle’s latest victim only days later, lovemaking wasn’t on either of their minds. They were focused on finding the murderer, and when Jack attempted to get Phryne to remove herself from the case, it was because he could tell that she was too close to it, not because she’d been so close to him. Their working rhythm seemed uninterrupted, which had been a worry for both of them, and both were relieved. They didn’t speak of their gaudy night.

Phryne didn’t bring it up because it was just one more tension release, albeit a very nice one. Jack had said he didn’t want to continue, and, to her mind, that was that. It was done and over.

Jack didn’t bring it up because he had meant what he said that night—he didn’t want to start a relationship. He’d needed comfort and she’d provided it; they’d scratched the itch. Now he wanted to move on, to let their investigative friendship take the lead. If he occasionally was sidetracked by the scent of her perfume or the shape of her lips, well, that was par for the course with a woman as attractive as Miss Fisher.

He appreciated her assistance in the Foyle investigation. Her insight had been key in deciphering the reason that Foyle had chosen his victims; given the inaccuracy of Janey’s birth record, Jack would never have found the connection. When Jack examined his motives for locking Miss Fisher up to keep her from attempting to trade herself for Jane, he was convinced that it was for her own safety, not because he’d been in her bed. He knew that she was determined and capable; he just didn’t want her to endanger herself. He carefully ignored the way that his heart squeezed at the idea of her giving herself over to Foyle’s mad plan; he reckoned that was because they were friends.

Phryne had been furious with Jack for locking her up—hadn’t she proven herself useful? And now Jane was out there, at the mercy of the man who’d killed Janey. When Phryne realized that Jack was heading into a trap, that Henry Rhodes must be working with Foyle, her frantic energy reached new heights. She’d been terrified for Jane, and knowing that Jack was in danger from Foyle too… Phryne couldn’t imagine investigating without his steady presence behind her—he had become an anchor in her frenetic world, and she rather liked him there. She was half proud of Dot and half ashamed of herself for forcing Hugh’s hand; she hoped that he didn’t get into trouble for letting her out, but she needed to help Jack.

She also needed to confront Foyle. He’d become the bogeyman, and she knew that the only way to rob him of his power to frighten her was to handle him directly. There was a moment in that confrontation when she thought that all was lost, that Foyle would kill her and Rhodes would kill Jack and Jane, but she managed to get them fighting each other, even as she felt her muscles shutting down from Foyle’s poison. Somehow, she’d used all of her willpower to force her body to move so that she could keep Foyle from killing himself, and when she saw Jack and Jane in the doorway, she was flooded with gratitude. Her loved ones were safe; she could rest. She heard Jack call her name, felt his arms—so familiar—close around her, heard Jane crying for her, and felt the moment when they went from the cool basement air to the sunshine of the day. It was almost over.

When Jack realized that Miss Fisher had gotten loose and had been drugged by Foyle, all Jack could think about was that sometimes, that animal tranquilizer killed humans. He wrestled with his anger and worry, but he swelled with pride at her courage as he took in the scene—she stood over Foyle’s prone body like an avenging angel, even as he saw her muscles stiffening. Her soft “I’m sorry, Jane,” touched him; that was the excuse he gave himself for slipping in his intention to keep a formal distance from her, calling her “Phryne” as she collapsed into his arms. He lifted her carefully and held her close, carrying her out of the storeroom and into the sunlight. Later, he realized that he’d left Foyle behind without a thought. It was fortunate that Foyle was unable to escape, given his injuries. Jack couldn’t regret his actions, though—he would do the same thing again to remove Miss Fisher and Jane from proximity to that man.

Jack made a point of letting Miss Fisher know when the police went to excavate Janey’s grave. It wasn’t precisely acceptable from the constabulary’s point of view, but she was an honorary constable, so he could justify it. He knew that she’d want to be there, and he felt that she deserved to be present. But he was unprepared for the way she stood beside him, her face naked in its sorrow, Janey’s ribbon clutched in her hands. The tightness in his chest at being unable to soften this blow was disconcerting. When the skeleton was uncovered, he placed a hand on her shoulder and realized that she was shaking. She’d pulled away from him to crouch down at the side of Janey’s resting place, and he could tell that she was falling apart. He motioned to Collins and Miss Williams to give them some space, then crossed around to stand behind her, wanting to be close if she needed him.

Phryne couldn’t say, later, how she’d known Jack would be there when she reached back for his hand. She didn’t remember seeing him move; she was too focused on the remains of her sister, her eyes blurred with tears, her body shaking with sobs. But she knew that if she reached out, he’d be there. And having him there meant that it was easier to let herself grieve for the little sister whose innocence would never turn to worldly wisdom. So she let herself hold his hand as she wept, and she didn’t think about the fact that she would not have accepted that support from anyone else.

*****

On the summer solstice, Phryne threw herself a birthday party. She knew that she needed a swift kick to get her out of the depression she could feel edging in around her. She remembered this feeling from the war—the sick and sad knowledge that there was nothing she could do to change the horror she was witness to. Her detecting career, she realized in a rare moment of introspection, was in direct opposition to that feeling; it was a way to at least attempt to make a difference and put a stop to some of those who would perpetrate horrors on the innocent. So when she felt the sadness descending, she forced herself into action. With Dot’s help, she invited all of her nearest and dearest over, ordered a case of French champagne, and prepared to celebrate life.

The party was in full swing when Jack knocked on the door. Mr Butler let him in, and Jack quietly requested that he be shown to a secluded part of the house and that Phryne be brought to him. He had struggled with whether tonight was the best time to ask her to sign the statement he’d crafted—he knew that it would hurt her, but he also knew that it would provide her with some closure. So he’d decided it was better not to wait.

Phryne joined him, knowing what he was going to ask. She was relieved, in truth, to get it over with and move on, knowing that Foyle would be hanged as soon as the wheels of the justice system could manage it. She sat down at the kitchen table—far enough away from the crowd that they wouldn’t be disturbed—and let her mask fall away, showing Jack the sorrow she felt. His eyes on her were warm and understanding. He knew that this would be painful, but also that she needed it. She didn’t know how, but he knew.

“So, if that’s a true statement of events as you recall them…” His low voice, as always, stroked across her skin. She looked up from the paper she was reading to meet his eyes, then down again to sign it. When it was done, she slid the paper back across the table to him, her hands resting on one edge, his on the other. The ephemeral connection between them that the paper conducted seemed to warm her fingers and up her arms. That feeling gave her the strength to speak.

“Aunt Prudence has organized for my sister to be buried in the family plot,” her voice was soft and ragged, and Jack nodded, closing his eyes momentarily as he shared her pain. When he reopened them, Phryne was gazing at him. “Janey died instead of me.”

“So you owe it to her to keep living to the hilt,” he retorted immediately, tilting his head at her with a tiny smile. She knew already that he refused to hold her responsible for Janey’s disappearance and death, and though she couldn’t entirely agree with him, she appreciated the sentiment. His smile echoed in his voice as he went on, “not that I’ve noticed you wasting a moment.”

Her return smile was tiny, but it was a smile, and he considered that a job well done. They sat for long moments, just looking at each other. He tried to project his conviction that what had happened to her sister was in no way her fault; she tried to believe it. She wondered what he would do if she went around the table and curled up in his lap so that he could just hold her and let her absorb some of his strength.

At that moment, Mr Butler came in to take the drinks tray, his soft “excuse me, miss,” enough to keep her from acting on that impulse. She was strong enough on her own; she told herself that she didn’t need any man, even Jack, to shore her up. That didn’t quite alleviate the need to feel hard arms around her, but she knew it was true.

Jack held her eyes again as Mr Butler left, wondering what she would do if he stood and opened his arms to her. Would she let him embrace her? He’d like to hold her and see if contact could shore up her belief that she was not to blame for Janey’s death. He blinked when Dot came in to collect the hors d’oevres.

“They’re asking for you, miss,” her soft voice drew Phryne’s attention, and he watched as Phryne gave the slightest of nods. It was a good thing, he thought, that he hadn’t tried to hug her—he thought she wouldn’t want to appear weak in front of her friends. But when Phryne’s eyes came back to him, he was stunned to see that she had tears in her eyes.

“My birthday party,” she said softly, her lips wobbling as she tried to smile.

Jack’s smile was soft. He felt the urge more strongly to stand up and pull her into his arms, but he was almost certain that she wouldn’t want him to draw attention to her distress. He kept his reply short. “Summer solstice.”

He remembered, Phryne thought. Of course he would not forget. Had she and Dot invited him to the party? She hoped so—he was among her nearest and dearest after all—but she couldn’t remember. She reached out to grasp one of his hands where it rested on the table.

“Help me to celebrate.” She’d meant it to be a plea, but since she’d spent the last ten years refusing to plead for anything, thanks to her time with Rene Dubois, it sounded more like a demand. She really did want Jack to stay.

Jack nodded silently. He had planned to stay, just for a little while; the invitation he’d received at the station had surprised and pleased him. He hadn’t been sure that she wasn’t inviting all of Melbourne, but he was pleased nonetheless to be included.

He smiled at her again, a small gesture that she realized went a long way toward soothing her heart, and nodded. With a squeeze of his hand, she stood.

“Thank you, Jack,” she said softly.

“It’s my pleasure, Miss Fisher,” he responded.

She turned to go back to the party, and he saw her pause in the hallway between the kitchen and the dining room. Her back was to him, but he imagined that she was composing herself, and redonning her mask of gaity. Sure enough, when she moved again, she danced, her entire physical aspect belying the sorrow he knew she was feeling. Marveling at her, Jack followed, propping himself in the doorway and accepting a glass of champagne from Mr Butler. He stayed there until the evening died down, chatting to her friends and his constable—not a party for the whole of Melbourne, it seemed, but only her closest friends, and he felt even more pleased to be counted among them—and he watched her.

Throughout the evening, Phryne found herself looking for Jack, though she didn’t approach him. She didn’t want to compromise their agreement to keep their encounter to just one night, and she planned to get very _very_ drunk, which would make it harder for her to keep that promise. But she looked for him, and when she found his eyes on her each and every time, she smiled.


	3. Chapter 3

Over the course of the next few months, Jack and Phryne reveled in their growing closeness. They had been investigative partners for months, and they’d managed to find a rhythm that worked. Phryne was able to take the less conventional route to get answers, and she usually managed not to contaminate the evidence that Jack needed to make the convictions stick. She also had an uncanny ability to put two and two together and come up with five in a way that made perfect sense when she explained it, but that he could only rarely do.

Jack found himself relieved that he didn’t feel jealous of the lovers she took as the months went on, as he’d half-feared he might. He knew himself well, and casual sexual encounters were not something that he was entirely comfortable with. That gaudy night had been the exception for him. Besides, there was a lovely young Italian widow that he’d met a few months before; if he was going to enter into another long-term relationship, it was more likely to be with a woman like her. But he would admit, if only to himself—in his own bed, when he could allow the fantasies free rein—that he would not mind another night or two with Phryne Fisher. It was probably just as well that he didn’t have that option, though. He’d end up falling in love, and that would ruin everything.

So he let himself enjoy working with her and generally didn’t wish for more. Miss Fisher lived her life on no one else’s terms; just being around her was exhilarating, and he treasured her friendship and her outlook on life. But he would admit, if only to himself, that it was difficult to suppress his arousal when she performed her fan dance, parading her nearly naked body in front of a roomful of men. And when she sat on his lap and pressed his face into her breast to cover their conversation when they were discovered, it was all he could do to keep from pressing close and tugging down her beaded neckline so that he could take her nipple into his mouth. In that moment, his mind had flashed an image of himself pushing up her skirts and popping the buttons on her knickers to thrust into her body. When she asked him to give her a head start, he acquiesced quickly, knowing he’d need a moment to compose himself. He hoped she hadn’t noticed the erection he’d been unable to control, but he knew she’d star in his fantasies again that night.

Phryne noticed. She had considered as she practiced her fan dance that Jack might be in the audience—and when she spent the hour after practice in another sort of dance with her instructor, she found herself comparing Carlos’ technique to Jack’s. Both were lovely and satisfactory, but she realized that she had to give Jack the edge. Something about the intensity Jack brought to sex was missing in Carlos’ embrace. So when she saw Jack at the back of the room during her performance, she felt a rush of adrenaline. When she’d sat on his lap later, it was only half for cover; the other half just wanted an excuse to feel him close again. She could feel his breath on her breast through her bodice, and the hardness of his erection under her bottom. She smiled down at him softly as she left, knowing that that moment would appear in her fantasies very soon.

She also truly appreciated that Jack didn’t seem to be jealous of the men that she took to her bed—she knew that he was a conventional man, and it had been a risk to sleep with him if only because there was a chance that he would begin to feel proprietary about her. But he hadn’t; she was discreet, of course, but Jack _was_ a detective. And sometimes discretion had to fall by the wayside. Take Warwick Hamilton, for example. She’d discovered in the boudoir that he had motive for murdering Freddy, and she couldn’t keep that from Jack, even if it meant admitting that she’d bedded the man. When Jack had snarked “You’ve obviously come to know him quite well,” as she tried to get him to see her logic about the unlikelihood of Warwick’s guilt, she merely rolled her eyes slightly. She considered telling him that Warwick had been only a passable lover—which was true—but she didn’t want reopen that door between them. Jack would have to do that. She’d promised not to, and she always kept her promises.

Jack would admit to a pang when he realized that Phryne had brought up the facts that the psychic’s assistant had admitted during… after… in her boudoir. But that was partly because he found the man rather smarmy, whereas Phryne probably only focused on the man’s good looks. For an instant, Jack hoped that Hamilton had been a terrible lover, but then he chastised himself. She was entitled to whatever she wanted out of the bedroom. And he’d told her that he didn’t want more than their one night, so there was no point now in wanting something else. He reminded himself that he didn’t really wish for more. He didn’t think he’d be able to share her with other men, and she was unlikely to want to limit herself to only him. So he tried not to want that, and he mostly succeeded.

*****

It wasn’t until Jack found himself wrapping his footie scarf around Phryne’s neck that he thought there might be room for something more between them. But the look in her eyes, her flicker of a glance at his lips, and her soft smile all combined to make him want nothing more than to kiss her. He didn’t, of course—Rosie was _right there_ —but he wanted to. With a smile, he let her go; he thought he might have seen disappointment in her eyes, but then he thought he was mistaken. Either way, he’d missed the opening, and he had to concede that perhaps that was for the best.

 _He’s going to kiss me,_ Phryne thought, as Jack looped his footie scarf around her neck. She waited, ready to again feel his lips on hers, and planning the way the rest of the evening could go. A vision of the two of them writhing on her soft bed assembled itself in her mind, and when he let go without closing the distance between them, she found herself regretful. She’d thought that maybe he was ready to have more between them, but apparently not. She supposed that with his ex-wife only a few feet away, he might be reluctant to fall into passion, but it made her wistful all the same.

They parted that night as friends, but not without unspoken disappointment on both sides. That disappointment flared to regret for Jack when he received a badly connected call a week later from Collins, who was attending at a death.

“Sir—” Collins’ next words were garbled, but Jack could make out a few. “—Miss Fisher—crashed motor car—” 

Jack’s heart stopped. He must have reassured Collins that he’d be on his way, but he didn’t remember it. He didn’t remember hanging up the phone, or donning his jacket and hat, or even driving the car. All he could think about was that Phryne was dead and he’d never see her again, never laugh with her, never get another chance to make love to her. He’d never wake beside her, curled together under the covers, or banter with her over a dead body, or hold her hand as they walked down the beach. _I’ll never get to tell her I love her._ The thought ambushed him as he pulled up to the scene of the accident, and he sat for a moment, allowing it to sink in. Of course he loved her. How could he not?

He braced himself, climbing out of the car. His joints were stiff, and he felt as if he were a hundred years old. He waved off Collins’ attempt to talk to him—he barely heard the man—and he braced himself to see her beautiful face cold with death. When he lifted the sheet to see a stranger lying there, his initial reaction was relief. _It wasn’t Phryne_. And before he could even truly take that in, she was there, as bright and insouciant as ever. He couldn’t catch up, his heart stuttering to life again—he hadn’t realized it had been stopped this whole time—and he was suddenly furious. How dare she make him feel this way? He had _told_ her that he wasn’t ready for more than a casual fling, and there she was, being wonderful and smart and _alive_ , and all he wanted to do was take her in his arms and prove to himself that they both were among the living, and to hell with the fact that Collins was standing right there.

Instead, he heard himself, as if from a distance, reacting to her theories of murder with anger and disdain. He couldn’t even look at her, aware that if he did, he would embarrass himself, either with tears or with passion.

“Just passing by, were you?”

“You know better than that, Jack. My adventuresses’ club was sponsoring Gertie’s entry into the road rally race this Saturday.” She wondered if Jack was ill. He looked rather gray, and he seemed to be a little slower on the uptake than usual. He’d even looked surprised to see her, when she knew that Hugh had told him she’d requested his presence at this scene.

“Your adventuresses’ club,” Jack responded dully.

“For like-minded women. I’m madame president,” Phryne said matter-of-factly.

“Of course you are,” he whispered.

“This was no accident, Jack! Apart from myself, there is no one I trust more behind the wheel than Gertie Haynes. She flew down the road like Boadicea in her chariot.” Phryne waved her hand for emphasis, her other planted on her hip. She knew that Jack would understand this argument—he would agree that her driving skills were second to none.

“Even a Celtic queen has the odd accident,” Jack managed. There. He’d looked at her. No, bad idea. He let his gaze drift away again.

“This is an impeccably maintained rally racer! Wheels don’t simply fall off!” What was wrong with Jack today? He didn’t seem to agree that this was a murder, though the signs seemed clear to her.

“Depends how recklessly you drive the car,” Jack said, finally meeting her eyes. The shock in her gaze pumped his anger higher. He’d told her that she needed to slow down. Didn’t she know that this was his worst fear? That he’d someday be called to assist at the scene of her death?

“Look at this,” She pushed past him. “Look at her scarf! If Gertie had been driving along with her scarf through the door, it would be filthy. Look at it! It’s spotless!”

“Well, if she was driving at speed, the scarf would fly out behind her.” His response was quick and adamant.

“Why are you not willing to entertain the idea of foul play?” Phryne’s face was a study in confusion. Jack’s nostrils flared, his flat gaze holding none of the warmth it usually did when he looked at her.

“Why ask my opinion if you’re not willing to listen to it?” He retorted.

“Because… that usually doesn’t bother you,” she said. She realized how stupid that sounded as she said it, but it was true. That was how she and Jack worked. She would spout out a theory and he would logically disprove it—or not, and they’d go on to prove it together. That he was blocking her so insistently right now was maddening.

Jack stared at her, nonplussed. She was right, of course. It didn’t usually bother him when she jumped to conclusions; he knew that was how her mind worked. He appreciated that her mind worked that way. And she might just be right about the possibility of foul play here. He’d see what the coroner had to say. Turning to look back at the body, he swallowed, trying to push his feelings down so that he could see more clearly. He’d figure out Gertie Haynes’ next of kin first, then follow the evidence. Miss Fisher would just have to be content with that.

He forced himself to keep his distance from Phryne when she came to his office that evening. The doors were closed; if he’d pulled her over and buried his face between her thighs as she sat on his desk, she might welcome it, but he knew that he’d be the worse for it afterward. So he just looked at her, trying to convince himself that she wasn’t _that_ important to his happiness. That he’d be able to go on without her if he had to. He was frantically trying to rebuild the walls around his heart, brick by brick, and he finally had to brusquely usher her from his office, unable to keep them from crumbling each time she spoke. Perhaps by morning, he’d be on more even ground.

He did his best to act normally for the rest of the case, but it was obvious, when he finally was able to tell her that he’d approached that wreckage thinking she was in it, that he’d surprised her. And more than surprised her later, when he’d called her on sabotaging his vehicle. He’d arrived at her door ready to say what he needed to say, but when she greeted him with such pleasure, he felt himself freeze.

“You’re not indulging tonight?” Phryne’s soft question reminded him of his purpose.

“I came to return something of yours you left in my car,” he said, pulling her ruined stocking out of his coat pocket.

“You didn’t wash it?” Her response was so typical, making a joke.

“I didn’t see much point,” he said solemnly, leveling an unamused gaze at her. “The exhaust pipe burnt right through it.”

She smiled a little sheepishly at him, saying, “It was only a small delay.”

“Engineered by you once again to your own advantage,” he practically growled at her. She could have just _asked_ him to let Ailsa Wilson have a few moments with her daughter—hadn’t his past behavior shown her that he would be open to a request like that?

“I know we have some minor points of contention, Jack, but we enjoy uncovering the truth together, don’t we?” She sat down and continued to smile in that way that said she thought he wouldn’t be able to resist forgiving her. Until today, she might have been right. Now he was realizing that although she paid lip service to the two of them working together, she was so self-reliant that she would never truly consider him a partner, and he had realized with this case that he wanted to partner her in more than crime-solving. He had to pull back from Phryne Fisher before she wrecked him.

“Therein lies the problem,” he replied quietly, a sudden lump in his throat. He wondered whether he could actually say what he’d come here to say.

“What do you mean?” Phryne shook her head, her beautiful face confused. He gazed at her, committing her to memory.

“When I thought it was you… in that wreckage,” he ground out, every word fighting for purchase on his tongue, “I found it unbearable.” He shook his head slightly, looking away, hoping that she would read between the lines of what he’d just said. He had intended to be more eloquent, but he couldn’t force the words he’d prepared to leave his lips. _I’m in love with you, Phryne, and I know that you don’t love me. That’s all right—I don’t expect you to love me, but I can’t be with you and not want you, so I need to not be with you until I can make myself stop feeling this way._ Or something like that.

“Sounds serious,” she said softly, her flirtatious smile completely gone. She had understood.

“It is,” he said, nodding. _I didn’t mean to fall in love with you, Phryne, but I have. And I can’t bear it that you don’t trust me enough to be my partner. Even if you can’t love me back, I would love for you to be my partner._

“I am who I am, Jack, I can’t give that up,” her voice was defensive. He was certain that she’d been asked countless times to give up her freedom for some man who loved her. He couldn’t imagine changing her—she was glorious just as she was—and so he needed to let her go before he tried.

“I’m not asking you to give it up,” he kept his eyes on hers, willing her to see his sincerity. “I would never ask you to do that.” He watched the understanding dawn on her face.

“So you’re… giving up me, instead,” she said softly. The lump in his throat had grown, and to his horror, he felt tears welling in his eyes. He nodded softly, using it as an excuse to look away. Her next words were barely more than a disbelieving whisper.

“What we do best—us, together—you’d sacrifice that?” He looked back at her, feeling the unhappiness on her face as a blow to his heart. He nodded again, a movement so small that he almost didn’t feel it.

“If you did that, Jack, I would feel… I would feel like it was you lying in that wreckage,” her face was stricken, and there were tears in her eyes. He hadn’t thought she’d be this unhappy to lose his company—he knew that this was self-preservation, that he had to have some distance from her, but he hadn’t known it would hurt her.

“Please can you think about that?” Her whisper was agonized, and he felt the tears well up again.

“I will,” he replied softly, nodding again. Without looking at her, he turned and headed toward the door, blinking to keep his tears at bay.


	4. Chapter 4

When Jack turned to leave, Phryne surprised herself by leaping up to follow him.

“Jack, wait,” she said breathlessly. He stopped in the entryway, his back to her. She came up behind him and hesitantly laid a hand against his back. He stiffened, closing his eyes and feeling the tears he’d been holding back trail down his face. _What am I doing?_ She wondered. _I don’t want him to be in love with me, and if he is, I don’t want to hurt him. But I can’t let him go this way, either._

“Phryne, don’t,” he breathed. He held himself very still, willing her to just let him go. Instead, she came around in front of him, standing too close, as she always did. He felt her cup his face, her thumbs tenderly wiping away his tears before letting her hands fall away.

“I made you a promise,” she whispered, “that I wouldn’t ask for more than our one gaudy night. So I won’t ask you to stay." She paused, then continued softly, "But I will welcome you if you choose to.”

Jack felt her step back and skirt around him, her heels clicking against the tiled floor. He stood there for a moment longer, wondering what to do. If he chose to go to her bed, would he be choosing his own ruin? If he walked away now, would he be any happier? Perhaps he could lie with her just one last time. It could be a kind of farewell, he supposed. _I can’t be what she wants, so if I do this, I’ll have to walk away after._ He couldn’t picture himself falling into Phryne’s bed over and over, casually fucking as if it had no meaning. It had meaning to him. She might never understand that, but that was all right. He loved all of her, even the parts that couldn’t see past her own prejudices. So all right. One last night then. On a deep breath, he turned to face her.

She stood at the base of the stairs, watching him. _I can’t be what he wants,_ she thought. _What am I doing? What is he thinking?_ Perhaps he was trying to reconcile her easy approach to sex with their friendship. They could have both, couldn’t they? Jack hadn’t seemed to mind when she’d taken other lovers after the last time. And if he needed to be in her bed to stay in her life, well, that was definitely worth the price to her. She wouldn’t even haggle. She could admit that she’d begun to take Jack’s assistance—and her assistance of him—for granted as the months went on. She knew that she was capable of completing cases on her own, but it was so much more _fun_ when Jack was involved! And now if she could reassure him that their friendship was as strong as ever, despite her cavalier approach to driving, they could go on as usual. Only perhaps better, because they could enjoy each other’s bodies at the same time.

When Jack turned slowly toward her, Phryne’s heart leapt. If he’d planned to leave, wouldn’t he just go? She searched his eyes for an answer; in them, she saw desire and love and… sorrow? No, that couldn’t be right.

“Jack?” His name was little more than a breath as it left her lips, but he shuddered as if she’d stroked his naked skin.

In two strides, he was on her, his arms coming around her and pushing her against the post at the bottom of the stairs, his mouth devouring hers. She gusted out a sigh and wound her arms around his neck, pulling him close. She felt the relief that filled her body as arousal, and she hopped to wrap her legs around his waist. He staggered, but took her weight; reaching one hand out behind her, he searched for the banister and began pulling himself blindly up the stairs, Phryne clinging limpet-like to him, her mouth on his.

He reached her boudoir without falling down the stairs—a miracle—and Phryne pushed the door shut behind him as he carried her to the bed, falling with her to lie chest to chest as they kissed. Phryne pushed off his overcoat and jacket, then flung his hat off; his hands skimmed her hips and slid up under her jacket and camisole to cup her naked breasts. He groaned against her mouth as he felt her nipples harden against his palms, and he stroked upward to push both articles over her head, pulling his mouth away from hers only long enough to let the fabric move between them. When it had cleared her mouth—before it even passed her eyes—his lips were again on hers, his tongue dancing into her mouth as if he couldn’t get enough of her kisses.

Once her upper body was bare, Phryne dropped her hands to Jack’s tie, pulling the knot loose and letting it hang inside his collar as she nimbly opened his buttons. She pushed his waistcoat off first, then his braces. Jack, his arms stretched over her head, worked his cuffs, and when she’d managed to get his shirt halfway undone, he reached behind his head to pull it and his singlet off together rather than spend any more time being clothed against her naked skin. Coming back down to kiss her again, he groaned into her mouth as he rested his bare chest against hers. She panted, pushing her hips against his, and he began a pulsing motion with his hips, wanting to please her, but not wanting to break their skin-on-skin contact.

Frustrated, Phryne rolled to sit above him, her hands on his chest as she undulated her hips against him. Even through all of the cloth still covering their lower halves, she could feel his erection, and its presence between her thighs was electrifying. Jack raised his hands to cup her breasts, his eyes hot on her skin and his mouth reddened by her kisses. Phryne looked down at him, his stomach muscles clenching as he met her thrust for thrust, and his long fingers on her nipples and felt herself shake with a small climax. What this man could do to her!

Jack grinned, feeling her breath shuddering through her lungs under his hands, and rolled them again. This time, he slid down her body, unhooking her trousers and pulling them, along with her knickers, down her body to leave her completely bare. Then he stood, watching her as she shivered with climactic aftershocks, and divested himself of the rest of his clothing.

“Protection?” He practically growled the word at her as he dropped a hand to his cock, stroking it and taking the scene in to replay it later. Phryne Fisher, skin naked and flushed, lying spread-eagled on her plush coverlet, her thighs wide and her sex glistening. When she turned to reach into her bedside table, he climbed up onto the bed beside her, watching her breasts bounce with her movement. Unable to resist, he stroked a hand from her buttock down her thigh, then trailed his fingers back up again to her quim, hearing her gasp as he slid them into her moist passage. Her fingers fumbled in the drawer before withdrawing the black clamshell case he’d seen in there the first time they’d made love. He reached to take it from her with his free hand, but she held it out of his reach. Pressing herself into his fingers, she moved to help him penetrate her, sliding her free hand down to press against her clit. Jack watched her hand as she pleasured herself, continuing to pump into her with his fingers. She pinched her clit between her finger and thumb, rolling them so that her fingernails pinched into her turgid flesh. With a  wail, she came again, her back bowing and her hips thrusting. Jack pushed his fingers in as far as he could, holding the pressure until she relaxed. Then he withdrew his hand, absently lifting it to his mouth as he reached to take the case from her limp fingers.

When he flipped open the case, he was unsurprised to see that it contained a diaphragm—he’d deduced from some things that he’d heard from Phryne and from Dot (via Hugh, bless him) that she had some sort of contraceptive device. He supposed that he should be aghast at the illegality of it, but instead he found himself thankful. He didn’t want to add a baby to the mess that was between himself and Phryne. Lifting the device out, he stretched to place the case back on the bedside table, then he stroked his knuckles down Phryne’s back.

“How do you insert this, Miss Fisher?” His voice rumbled against her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. She rolled over and, without any sign of embarrasment, folded the rubber disc over her finger and slid it into her body.

Jack caught his breath. The picture of Phryne, her fingers disappearing between her legs, was one that he would never forget. When she withdrew her fingers, he caught her hand and raised her fingers to his mouth to clean them. Her eyes, still somnolent with pleasure, sparkled, and she caught the back of his head, bringing him down to cover his mouth with hers. Rolling to lie between her spread thighs, Jack reached down to guide himself into her body. Pushing into her wet passage with no rubber condom to obscure the sensation was intense enough that Jack’s eyes rolled back in his head. He moaned, low and deep, into Phryne’s mouth as he seated himself all the way inside of her. Pulling his mouth away, he laid his forehead against hers, holding her eyes as he withdrew and then pushed slowly back in.

“God, Phryne, you feel like velvet,” he said, “so gooood,” he groaned again as he continued to stroke out and then slowly push in. Phryne’s hand on the back of his head pulled his mouth back to hers, and her other arm lifted up to press against his back, pulling him down to push her bare breasts against his chest.

Jack continued that slow stroking for what felt like hours, feeling the pressure of Phryne’s breasts against his chest, and filling himself with the taste of her mouth. When Phryne slid one of her legs up to press against his ribcage, he slid a hand down to catch her behind the knee and tuck his shoulder underneath it. This adjustment changed the angle of his hips, and within another stroke, he realized that he’d found an approach that was _very_ good for Phryne. The slow, repeated slide of his cock head against the front of her passage seemed to initiate a tension that he could feel coiling within her. Her hands clutched at him, her nails digging into the skin of his scalp and his back, so hard that when the tension finally broke, she drew blood. The pulses of her climax against his cock had him locking his hips hard against hers to stay deep inside as he lost himself to his own orgasm.

The rest of the night was a blur for Jack. They managed to work themselves under the covers of Phryne’s bed, where they lay entwined and dozing. He woke her twice more in the night to love her again, tracing her body with his mouth and hands, giving her as many climaxes as he could manage before he came himself. She woke him once more with her mouth on his cock, and he hooked her hips with his hands to bring her up to his mouth so that he could fuck her with his tongue as she sucked him off. He woke for the last time in the early morning light, knowing that his time with her was up. He turned to face her where she lay on her belly, one hand reaching out to touch his arm. She was so beautiful. He reached out to smooth a lock of her hair off of her face, and she murmured something that sounded like his name. Swallowing, he realized that if he woke her now, he’d never be able to leave. So he slid carefully out of the bed, tiptoeing around the room to gather up his clothing. His hat was the hardest to find, but he finally located it behind her dressing screen.

Standing in that secluded corner, Jack pulled on his clothing, leaving off his shoes. Once he was as tidy as he could make himself given the wrinkled state of his suit, he carefully made his way to the door. Opening it, he turned to look one last time at Phryne, who slept on, her face, naked of cosmetics, relaxed and smiling in her sleep.

“Goodbye, Phryne,” he said softly, and he stepped through the door, closing it quietly behind himself.


	5. Chapter 5

As he showered and shaved and readied himself for work the following morning, as if he didn’t have a hole in his chest where his heart should be, Jack decided that he needed to cut all ties with Miss Fisher. He’d let Collins know that he was not available should she call or stop by, and that Collins should refer her to someone at a different station if she truly needed a police presence.

Walking into the station, he headed toward his office to hang up his overcoat and hat before sitting down at his desk.

“Collins, could you come in here please?” He barely raised his voice, but he knew that Collins heard him.

“Sir?” Collins stood in the doorway, his notebook and pencil in hand.

“Come in and close the door, please,” Jack said quietly. When Collins had done that, Jack gestured him to the chair in front of the desk. Collins’ expression was confused—the inspector never asked him to sit down—but he complied.

“I need your help with something, Hugh.” Jack leaned his elbows on the desk, raising his eyes to meet his constable’s. “I find that I need to avoid Miss Fisher’s company for the foreseeable future.”

“Miss Fisher’s— Have you two had a falling out, sir?” Hugh could tell that he was missing something here.

Jack pressed his lips together in a quick frown. “Not exactly. The reasons are personal, not professional. I just— I need to not see her for a while. I find her presence distressing at the moment.”

“Of course, sir,” Hugh said loyally, wondering what had happened between them. He’d noticed some tension during their most recent case, particularly when the inspector came out to view the murder victim at the crash site. But they had seemed to be getting along as usual, or at least, he hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary. He knew, though, that he didn’t always notice what he should, which was why he admired the inspector. Jack Robinson always noticed everything.

Hugh left the office, having promised to help in keeping Miss Fisher away from the inspector until he was given notice that that order had changed. Jack watched him go. He hoped that avoiding her would be enough.

*****

“The inspector asked you to help him keep Miss Fisher away?” Dot’s voice was incredulous. “Why?”

“He didn’t say,” Hugh said miserably. They were walking arm in arm along the foreshore, ice creams in hand. “Did they have a fight, Dottie?”

“Not that I saw, Hugh,” she said, her brow furrowed in thought. “Though I wonder…”

“What?” Hugh realized that he was rather desperate to understand what was going on. Inspector Robinson had looked so sad today when he made the request, and it made Hugh uneasy—his inspector always seemed to have the answers, so to see him so downcast was unsettling.

“Well,” she said slowly, feeling through the situation in her mind, “they have gotten rather close lately, haven’t they? What if the inspector is feeling more than friendship for Miss Fisher?” Hugh looked at her, a bit of understanding dawning on his sweet face. “He’s traditional enough that he’d probably want a… conventional relationship, and that’s not really her style.”

“Ah,” Hugh said, though he didn’t really understand. Did Miss Fisher not want to step out with his inspector?

Dot, looking at Hugh, felt a swell of tenderness for him. Hugh tried so hard, but he was still learning that the way his mother viewed the world wasn’t necessarily the only way the world could be viewed. She supposed she’d been the same way, before she met Miss Fisher.

“She likes her freedom, Hugh,” Dot said now. “If they began courting, Inspector Robinson might expect it to end in marriage, and Miss Fisher says she’ll never marry. So maybe he wants more than she’s willing to give.”

Hugh nodded, his mind working at the problem. Hugh thought Jack Robinson was the best man he’d even known, aside from his father.

“Miss Fisher doesn’t want a husband,” Dot said, “but if she did,” Dot thought for a minute, remembering all the times her miss had worked with the inspector, and how she talked about him. “If she did, I think she might choose Inspector Robinson.”

Shaking her head a little, she clasped Hugh’s arm more tightly. “But it’s really none of our business, Hugh,” she went on briskly. “We shouldn’t even be speculating on it.”

*****

Jack’s temper was short and getting shorter with each day that passed. He couldn’t sleep. Or rather, he could sleep, but each time he did, he dreamed of Phryne. She haunted him. Her scent was on the suit jacket he’d worn that last night, and when he’d hung it in his closet, it had permeated the small area. Now all of his suits smelled faintly of her perfume. His overcoat was even stronger, and he caught a whiff of her each time he pulled it on.

His office reminded him of her, how she’d sit in his visitor’s chair or on the edge of his desk; how she’d stand just behind him, leaning over without touching but so close that he could feel her warmth. He found himself having conversations with her in his head—“What do you think about this, Miss Fisher?” “Well, Jack, it looks like a scarf, but didn’t the coroner’s report say that she was strangled? Could be the murder weapon.”

She stopped by almost daily, and at random times, so he couldn’t be away from the station each time she appeared. Poor Collins had to make up stories to get her to go away, and he was a terrible liar. Jack, meanwhile, hid in his office, behind a locked door, for fear that he would see her, smell her, want her again. It was getting ridiculous, and it wasn’t working. He still longed for her, yearning for her company at his crime scenes and for her presence in his bed.

He had begun to despise the man he was becoming—he’d reverted past the dour, dry inspector he had been before she’d entered his life and become ill-tempered as well. And Collins bore the brunt of his crankiness. After he’d snapped at his constable one too many times, Jack sighed.

“I apologize, Collins,” he said gruffly. “I don’t quite know which way is up just now.”

“I understand, sir,” Collins said quietly, still stinging from this latest rebuke. “Love isn’t an easy burden to bear, sir.” Jack’s head snapped up and he stared at Collins. “Or… so I’ve heard. From other people. Not you, sir.” Collins grimaced a little at his own stammering.

“Thank you, Collins,” Jack made an effort to keep his voice calm. “That will be all.” Christ, was it that obvious? Would he be just another man in love with Phryne Fisher? He closed his eyes. God, he hoped not. He hoped this feeling would pass, and soon. He needed to get back to his life.

*****

“Jack’s avoiding me,” Phryne announced as she swept into Mac’s office at the university.

“What have you done?” Mac’s tone was sardonic. She’d known and loved Phryne Fisher for many years, and she was not blind to her friend’s faults.

“I haven’t done anything, Mac!” Phryne said, her face settling into what Mac would never tell her was an absolutely adorable pout. If Phryne knew just how fetching that expression was, she’d figure out how to use it to her best advantage. “I mean, I thought we’d come to an understanding, Jack and I. But he left, after, and I haven’t even seen him for three whole weeks!”

“Wait,” Mac said, sitting up in her chair and pointing a finger at Phryne. “You slept with Jack Robinson?”

“Well, yes,” Phryne said. “But we’d done it before and remained friends, so I don’t understand why he’s avoiding me now!” Phryne flopped into Mac’s visitor’s chair, her arms draped over the sides, her face mulish.

“Wait, wait,” Mac shook her head, setting both hands flat on the desktop. “You’d done it before? When was this?”

Phryne waved a hand as if to imply that it was of no consequence, though Mac was relatively certain that was a lie. “Months ago, at Guy and Isabella’s party. He was hurting, Mac, and I couldn’t bear it, so I… comforted him.” She hurried on. “We both agreed that it would just be the once, and we went about our business.”

“But you slept with him again? Recently?” Mac tilted her head to eye Phryne. “And what happened?”

“He had a nasty scare—thought I’d killed myself in a car wreck—and he was about to just leave, Mac! He planned to just… walk away from our partnership!” Phryne’s eyes were large as she gazed at Mac, willing her to understand how that would have been impossible. “And he’d just as much as told me that he… cared for me.” Even in this context, Phryne couldn’t bear to think of a man saying that he loved her. “So I told him that I didn’t want him to leave, and that I wouldn’t ask him back to my bed—I’d promised him just that once—but that I’d welcome him if he chose to stay.”

“And he chose to stay?” Mac’s tone was dry.

“He did, and it was glorious,” Phryne’s tone deepened on the last word, the memories of that night still sharp in her mind.

“So let me get this straight,” Mac said, her hazel eyes calm. “Jack said that he’d realized he loved you, and… what, he wanted you to marry him?”

“No, he said he’d never ask me to change who I am,” Phryne said, her voice tender.

“All right, he said he’d realized he loved you, but he wouldn’t ask you to change for him, and that he needed to walk away. And you convinced him to come to your bed instead, thinking that he would find some magical place between your thighs where a man like Jack Robinson could be just one of your many lovers?”

“…Well, I can’t say that I thought of it quite that way,” Phryne said, beginning to see that maybe she’d gone a teensy bit wrong in her thinking. “But he positively _threw_ himself into that night, Mac! Doesn’t that seem like he was, sort of, all in?”

Mac’s voice was gentle as she looked at her friend. “I think it’s more likely that he was saying goodbye, darling.” At Phryne’s shocked look, Mac went on. “Jack is not the type of man who can be happy in a casual relationship, Phryne. And that is all he could probably imagine he would get from you. So if he really does love you,” and Mac wouldn’t be surprised if he did, given what she’d seen of the two of them together in the past, “he may feel that stepping out of the picture would be the only way that he could keep himself from attempting to convince you to change.” She watched as her friend’s shocked expression turned to one of utter despair.

“But Mac,” Phryne’s voice was small. “I miss him. I miss solving crimes with him, and bantering with him, and feeding him, and having drinks in my parlor, and… and making love with him…” She looked at Mac helplessly. “What am I going to do?”

 _Well, well, well,_ Mac thought as she gazed at her friend’s stricken face. _I never thought I’d see the day that Phryne Fisher fell in love again._ She cleared her throat.

“Don’t worry, darling, we’ll think of something,” she said softly.

*****

Mac hadn’t anticipated that the “something” would come just two days later, in the form of one of her colleagues, dead on her examining table. She was still in shock when Phryne arrived, and she gratefully took the flask Phryne offered, tipping her head back to take a healthy swig. She had just begun to brief her friend when Bradbury showed up with Jack Robinson in tow.

Phryne’s small inhalation of breath was soft enough that only Mac heard it; the hitch in Jack’s stride was a small one, but Mac could see the heartbreak his stony face was covering. _These two fools,_ Mac thought.

“Hello Jack,” Phryne’s voice was pitched slightly higher than usual.

“I didn’t realize you were on this case, Miss Fisher,” Jack said.

“Likewise. I could’ve left it to you.” Jack’s small nod cut Phryne to the quick, and she seemed to Mac to curl in on herself. No one but her closest friend would have noticed, but Mac saw.

“No you couldn’t,” Mac said, her voice sharp. She rather thought that Jack didn’t know how much he’d just hurt her friend; he was too busy drinking in the sight of her, and Phryne had barely flinched. “I called you both here because I want you to work together. I need this case solved.”

She introduced Phryne to Professor Bradbury, partly to break the tension between the two detectives. Sure enough, Phryne’s manners forced her to snap out of the self-protective stance she’d taken. Jack seemed to shake himself, then began questioning the professor. _Good,_ Mac thought. _Get them focused on something other than themselves._

*****

Jack felt the sight of Phryne like a punch to the gut. He’d convinced himself over the weeks since he’d seen her that she couldn’t be as impossibly beautiful as he’d remembered, but here she was. Alabaster skin, sleek black hair, bright blue-green eyes, and red, red lips. It was all he could do to keep himself from barging around the dissection table to take her in his arms. He was barely aware of the words coming out of his mouth as his eyes devoured her, feeding a hunger that he’d managed to ignore but now felt as a physical pain.

When Mac said that she’d called them both in to work on this case, Jack’s first reaction was elation—he’d get to investigate with her!—followed closely by despair. This would set him all the way back to where he’d been when he left her house in the wee hours of the morning after their last explosive night together. He glanced at her one more time before following Professor Bradbury out of the room, needing to see her, but hoping that she couldn’t see what he was feeling.

Phryne wanted Jack to stop looking at her and _do_ something. Touch her, say he was glad to see her, anything. When he didn’t, it was as if they were back in the earliest days of their partnership—before he’d acknowledged them as partners—and it felt like she’d lost a limb. She’d thought that the weeks without him were bad, but this was worse. He was looking at her as if he didn’t know her, or as if he knew her but didn’t particularly like her. She hoped that her face didn’t show the pain she was feeling. She wanted to rub at her chest; Jack’s indifference seemed to have created a knot beneath her breastbone that was winding tighter and tighter every moment.

Jack left the room with barely a glance in her direction, and Phryne felt her chin quiver. She would not cry over a man! Taking a deep, bracing breath, she followed him out. If he really was going to act as if he didn’t know her, well, she’d approach this case as she used to: She’d go around him. And she tried, but he kept getting in her way. He slid to intercept her on the way to Katz’s office, and she found herself defending his right to be there to Beatrice Mason. She even called for him as soon as she saw the blood trail. Just hearing his voice made her feel that she was alive again, even though he hardly looked at her.

Jack managed to keep himself in check for the next hour, watching Phryne work. She calmed the strange Beatrice Mason, picked the lock on Katz’s safe, and found the murder weapon, all within the first fifteen minutes of investigation. Every word she spoke was a stroke against Jack’s skin, and the pride that rose in his chest at her cleverness was almost too warm—it was scalding against the ice he’d wrapped around his heart. He finally decided that he had to ask her to leave, for his own sanity.

“I know Doctor Macmillan is an old friend,” he said, his voice tight; once again, she was standing too close. “But it would be easier if you left me to investigate.”

“Without me?” Phryne’s eyes looked beautiful in this light, changing with the angle of her head from bright blue to a soft green, and Jack found himself getting sidetracked again.

“What about the safe?” She asked, “you couldn’t have opened it without me.” Phryne couldn’t believe that he really was forcing her out. Even at the beginning of their association, Jack had let her help.

“Not as easily.” He kept his answers short, knowing that she’d just talk over him.

“Or the blood trail?” She searched his eyes, hoping to see her Jack again. He watched her coldly, knowing that pushing her away was what he needed to do.

“Not as quickly.” His short statements were dismissive, and she felt them like small, painful pinches.

“Or what about Hugh? I helped him to—” Was she pleading with him? Phryne Fisher didn’t beg! What was she doing?

“Helped what?” His voice was hard. He’d known she’d sent Hugh off on some errand of her own, probably one that would give him grief.

“You really want me to go,” It wasn’t a question, and she looked almost… hurt?

“I don’t want you to go,” he shook his head, forcing the words out. “I _need_ you to go. Please go home.”  He wasn’t sure she’d even do this—in the past, she would just go on about her business, disregarding any requests he made—but he hoped she would.

“Very well,” she said quietly.

Jack turned on his heel and walked away, the sadness in her voice almost enough to convince him to change his mind. But he was determined that he would come out of this thing whole—or as close to it as he’d been when he’d arrived. Her mocking “sayonara” stopped him for a moment, and he looked back at her. Her chin was up, and her eyes were fiery. Of course she wasn’t sad. He was only one of many men in her life, and if she couldn’t have him, she’d find another.

After that painful scene, the last thing Jack thought he’d be doing was standing in Phryne’s parlor, questioning a witness. The setting felt so familiar, he found himself shooting questioning glances at Phryne as Beatrice Mason gave her side of the story of how she’d come to spend the night in Mr Oliver’s rooms. Phryne seemed to be avoiding his gaze, focusing on Mac or Beatrice, but the questions she inserted in her gentlest voice were exactly what he needed. And when she handed over Beatrice’s jam to have it tested, she held the top of the bottle carefully, leaving plenty of room for him to grasp it without touching her skin. He stifled the pang of disappointment he felt; this was what he wanted, wasn’t it? For her to keep her distance?

*****

When Phryne barged into Jack’s interview with Mr Spall the following day, she could tell that the inspector was angry, and at first, she tried to placate him. But her ribs hurt rather dreadfully, and she was certain that Mr Spall was the one who had injured her and stolen Beatrice’s notes. He had invaded her home! Surely Jack would see that she had a stake in this interview. But when Jack growled at her that he minded her presence—actually growled, and she tried not to think about the way her body reacted to that sound—she found herself abruptly furious as well. She had evidence that would help his case, if he would only _listen_ to her!

 _The nerve of this woman,_ Jack found himself thinking, only half exasperated, when Phryne sashayed into his interview with Mr Spall. She was looking lovely in a combination of purple and red, and he clenched his teeth to keep from welcoming her. They remained clenched when she chirped “Don’t mind me”; he had to assure her that he did mind, and his voice came out in a particularly dangerous tone. When Phryne spewed out the story of the break-in at Wardlow the night before, he did his best not to react as his anger drained out of him and he scanned her for injury. She looked all right, and she’d seemed to be moving as smoothly as she usually did—not that he’d noticed—so he thought that she must not be terribly hurt.

He was listening, however, and reached to grasp the handkerchief she thrust at him; when she pushed it at his face during her diatribe, he found himself getting angry all over again. That was completely inappropriate conduct in front of an interview subject! Must she undermine his authority at every turn?

Jack’s eyes flashed at her when she pushed the kerchief at him, and Phryne regretted her childish actions almost instantly. She knew how important it was to Jack to look professional, particularly in front of a suspect. She felt her ire subsiding, and she shot him an apologetic look that he didn’t see because he was looking at Spall. When he cut her off repeatedly during the rest of the interview, she reckoned that he had reason to be angry and she did her best not to take it badly. He did order that Spall’s office be searched, as well, so she knew that he was taking her theories seriously.

Jack realized that he was deeply unsurprised to find Miss Fisher “helping” Hugh pick up the papers he’d “dropped” after his search of Mr Spall’s workspace. He tried not to be amused when she blatantly reviewed one file as he stood there; he was angry at her, he reminded himself. But her words stuck in his mind, and when he was looking over those files later, he could see that she’d been right.

By the time Phryne approached him and Collins in the entryway of the university the next morning, Jack couldn’t remember why he’d been so very angry with her. He felt mostly resigned to her presence at the moment, knowing that if she’d come up with some new evidence, she’d finagle her way into at least one interview, using it for leverage.

“Fascinating development, inspector,” she said, her voice a little belligerent, as if she knew that he’d push her away, given the chance. She dropped her voice. “Professor Spall is a spy.”

Jack glanced at his constable—had Hugh told Miss Williams what they’d found the previous day? “It’s only a theory at this stage,” he said, trying to keep his voice cool. She looked particularly lovely today. The orange tones of her outfit made her skin glow.

“So,” she said coyly, slowly pulling a piece of paper from behind her back, “would you like something to add to it?” Hugh tried to take it from her, and she pulled it out of his reach without ever taking her eyes off of Jack. “Or not?”

“At what price, Miss Fisher?” Jack already knew, of course.

“The usual, inspector,” Phryne smiled. She fanned herself lightly with the paper. It disturbed Jack how quickly a flush of pleasure suffused him, knowing that he knew her so well. He controlled the smile that threatened to take over his mouth, and he hoped that she didn’t see it. He even enjoyed Phryne’s presence in his interview with Spall—even Spall, whose dissembling was first rate, had trouble avoiding the answers to some of her questions.

Later, having recovered the Book and confronted the loathsome Mr Oliver as a team, Jack found himself standing once again in Phryne’s parlor. Their chemistry was back in full force, each one’s ideas building on the other’s. Jack realized that he hadn’t felt this alive in weeks, and it was all down to Phryne Fisher. _Damn her,_ he thought. _It’s not fair that she makes me a better investigator if she’s going to break my heart_. He knew it was true, but he was no longer sure that he wanted to stop her. Being without her was far too hard, and he knew that trying to avoid her made him a rather miserable human being. Would it really be so bad if he let her back into his life? If he let himself fall back under her spell? He was certain that if he did open that door, and she still wanted him in her bed, he would be there, regardless of whether she would commit only to him. It might kill him to know that she still felt the need to fuck other men, but it was already killing him to be without her. At least if he opened himself up to her again, he’d have pleasure as well as pain. He would let himself consider it, at least, when the case was over.

The thrill of working in concert with Jack again coursed through Phryne as they stood in her parlor. She felt sharper than she had in weeks, answers coming at the speed of lighting, and she thought that had quite a bit to do with the handsome man at her side. She had missed him, had missed this—the way they worked together felt almost magical, especially after having been without it for so long. None of the other investigators she’d worked with over the last few weeks had been as good as Jack was at investigating, and they hadn’t had the respect for her intellect that Jack had. She really hoped that he could see how good they were together; even if he didn’t come back to her bed—though she truly hoped he would—they had been in sync as friends, too. Perhaps she’d do her best to prove to him that they could work together during this case, then she’d confront him with that truth once the case was over.

A few hours later, Phryne watched as Jack threw a leg over an unattended motorcycle in an attempt to eliminate Professor Bradbury’s head start. Unwilling to be left behind, Phryne hopped on behind him, meeting his shocked gaze with a calm one of her own.

“What are you doing, Miss Fisher?” He said, his eyes wild as he looked over his shoulder at her.

“What we do best, Jack,” she retorted. “And I’m afraid I’m going to have to touch you.” With that, she slid her arms around his waist and snugged her legs up behind his.

Jack felt a shiver run through his body. The feel of her hands on his belly and her breasts pressed against his back was electric. Somehow, he managed to put that sensation aside long enough to cut the professor off in his headlong run. He knew that she was right—as an investigative team, they were unbeatable. He’d missed working with her. He just had to either figure out how to keep her from breaking his heart or decide that if his heart was going to be broken either way, he should at least enjoy the ride.

He didn’t speak to Phryne past a “Thank you for your help, Miss Fisher” as he towed a handcuffed Bradbury to his car, but he found a folded note on his desk by the time he returned to the station.

 _Jack,_ it read, _Please come for cocktails tonight when you’re finished. I think we need to talk. HPF._

She was right. They needed to talk, and he had only a few hours to determine which path he would take.

*****

Jack still hadn’t decided on his course as he stood in Miss Fisher’s parlor, joking with her and Doctor MacMillan. It was cordial, and it felt very right to be cradling a whisky in front of her fireplace. He found himself unable to separate his enjoyment of Phryne’s company with his attraction to her; when she commented that “Intelligent women have their uses,” his mind flashed to their two nights together and the uses to which he’d put her. He supposed that was indicative of where he stood on the _broken heart now_ versus _broken heart later_ conundrum.

“So what kind of partners are we from here on in, Jack? What’s our safe distance?” Phryne jumped right in when Mac left. “Two steps behind, two steps in front, perhaps a do-si-do?”

“I think we’re more of a waltz, Miss Fisher,” Jack replied, his eyes on her.

“Not a tango?” Her smile was flirtatious, but her eyes were wary. “A good waltz is slow… and close.”

Jack stepped toward her, his voice lowering. “I’ll try to stay in step all the same.” His eyes on hers were warm with desire, and Phryne moved to meet him in the middle of the room. They stood together, eyes locked as they sipped their whisky.

“So what does that mean to you, Jack?” Phryne’s voice was low. “Do we continue as friends or do we spend our time as lovers?” He swallowed, hard, before attempting to respond.

“I don’t want to change you, Phryne,” he rumbled, “but I don’t want to lose you either. I want you, more than I can say, and if you’ll have me, I will try to be your lover on your terms.” He knew that this was not a safe path, but he’d taken the safe path for far too long. This was the path he wanted.

Phryne’s eyes widened. She hadn’t expected this concession from him, but she appreciated it nonetheless. “So you don’t plan to ask me not to take other lovers as I choose?”

Jack’s lips tightened for a moment, and she thought she saw a flash of pain in his eyes. “I don’t. I hope that I will be the man in your bed more often than not,” she grinned at this, taking a step closer to lay her hand on his chest.

“Oh, I hope you will be too, Jack,” she purred, “and in your bed, in my parlor, on your desk…” She pressed her body against his, and he reached his free hand up to lay it over hers.

“I think… I think I’d like to know, when you take other lovers. Will you tell me?” He hated the hesitation in his voice. He had never tried to be this modern, and he had no idea whether knowing about the other men would make things better or worse.

Her flirtatious smile fell away, and her eyes were serious as she met his. “I will, if that’s what you want. But Jack,” she said softly, “don’t run away again. If this stops working for you, please tell me so.”

Jack nodded, unable to speak.

“And if you take other lovers, Jack?” Phryne’s voice was quiet. “I’d like you to tell me as well. I think it’s best if we keep the lines open as much as possible.” She knew that, given the man Jack was, other lovers were unlikely, but she felt it was important that they spelled their expectations out. She didn’t think it would bother her if Jack slept with someone else; she supposed that she’d find out if it happened.

Again, Jack nodded. He couldn’t imagine wanting another woman if he had Phryne in his bed, but he supposed it was best to set the rules early. After all, this very moment was proof positive that one never knew what the future would bring. Phryne turned her hand against his chest to clasp his and leaned toward him. With a long, slow blink, Jack lowered his lips to hers. When he raised his head, they both were breathing hard.

“Come to bed, Jack,” Phryne said, her voice a caress.

Bringing her hand up to his lips, Jack nodded for a third time. With a sweet smile, Phryne led him across the parlor and up the stairs, where she showed him how glad she was to have him there.


	6. Chapter 6

It didn’t take long for Jack to decide that he could get used to regular attendance in Miss Fisher’s bed. She was endlessly imaginative there, and willing to try anything that gave them pleasure. For the first two weeks, they were together every night, in his bed or hers (and once in the parlor), and their investigative partnership had never been better.

Jack knew that eventually, Phryne would find another man who was too intriguing to pass up, but he blocked that thought from his mind; he’d deal with it when it came up. And it did, at the end of the investigation into the murder of her producer friend’s lead actor and director. There was a strapping African actor who spent much of the film wearing nothing but a loincloth. Jack could see that Phryne admired him, and when, after the filming had finished, she came to him and said that she thought he should stay home that night, he knew. She looked up at him through her lashes.

“You asked me to tell you, Jack,” she said softly, reading the look on his face correctly. “Do you want to know any more?”

“It’s that one, isn’t it?” He said tightly, striving for boredom as he nodded his head toward the black man, who was helping break down the set.

“Mmm,” she agreed, watching him. “Are you sure you’re all right with this, Jack?”

Jack nodded, his face serious. “If this is what you need, I’ll be all right with it, Phryne.” He leaned down to kiss her, stroking her hair away from her face. “Have fun. I’ll be by in the morning to do the voice over.” With a final caress of her soft cheek, he walked away, leaving Phryne to her evening.

As he readied himself for bed that night, alone for the first time in weeks, Jack tried not to consider what Phryne was doing. He sat in bed, a glass of whisky in one hand and a novel in the other, doing his best to think of anything other than her. But it was a long time before he slept.

*****

The next morning, Jack presented himself at Phryne’s front door. She’d asked him to provide the voice over for a couple of the minor characters in the film, so he was not terribly surprised to see the cords and screen that were set up between her dining room and parlor. The process itself he found fascinating. Raymond ran the film from the dining room and Phryne cued him in to utter the timeless words, “Halt! Who dares walk this path?” as he tried to match his delivery to the silent movement of Bert’s mouth.

He shared a smile with Phryne after Raymond was satisfied with his delivery, and she slid her arm around his waist. He wrapped his around her shoulders and pressed a kiss to her temple. She grinned up at him, and he felt the knot in his belly unravel. She still wanted him. He hadn’t even realized that he’d been worried about that.

After Raymond left, Jack turned to Phryne, looping his arms around her waist. “So… are you terribly tired after last night’s adventure?”

She grinned up at him, raising one eyebrow. “Why Jack, what did you have in mind?” He smiled down at her.

“Perhaps a walk along the foreshore and some fish and chips?” His smile grew wicked. “We can build up an appetite.” He didn’t want to think about what she had done the night before, but he knew that he could satisfy her tonight. And if he satisfied her enough, perhaps the other men would become few and far between.

Phryne marveled at him. This was a man who hadn’t been sure he could stand to share her with anyone else, and here he was, proposing to seduce her himself, the night after she’d had another man in her bed. She ignored the small voice that wondered whether he really didn’t care if she fucked someone else, deeming it unworthy of her, and of him. She also ignored the thought that, while her African had been quite skilled at lovemaking, he had lacked a certain something that she felt when she was with Jack.

“That sounds delightful,” she said, lifting to her toes to press a kiss to his lips. “I’ll just get my coat and let Mr Butler know that we won’t be needing dinner.” And that if he hadn’t already stripped the bed in her boudoir, she would need him to do so while they were out. When they returned, she intended to show Jack how much she appreciated his open-mindedness.

*****

Jack’s trip up to Maiden Creek to respond to Phryne’s call for a “mechanic” was a little on the frantic side. She hardly ever called for help, and never in such a cryptic way. He hoped that the evidence he and Collins had managed to gather overnight would be enough to get her out of trouble. At the first opportunity, she pulled him aside.

“Jack, I can’t tell you how happy I am that you’re here,” she said as they stood near one of the outbuildings beside the winery. “I truly appreciate that you came to help.”

“Of course, Phryne,” he said, wishing that he could take her in his arms. His official presence and the fact that the townsfolk knew that she was unmarried meant that it wouldn’t be a good idea.

Phryne stepped close, her voice dropping. “I have to tell you something, though,” she said quietly. “I hope you won’t be angry.” He blinked, long and slow. He remembered the way the vintner had taken Phryne’s hand when someone had taken a potshot at her in the vineyard, and how he’d called her by her first name.

“Erik Voight?” He said calmly, knowing already that it was true. He leveled a look at her. Could the woman not go one night without a sexual encounter?

She grimaced a little. “Yes,” she said. “It just sort of… happened.”

“And do you need me to leave so that it can happen again?” His voice was dry. At least she’d told him, as he’d asked her to. And Voight seemed like a nice enough bloke, though a bit of a milksop.

“Lord no, Jack,” Phryne replied, her expression surprised. Apparently Erik Voight had not been the most adept of lovers. “Once was enough there. No, I’m quite glad you’re here for… more personal reasons as well.” She lifted her hands to his lapels, stroking them lightly, her fingers tucked beneath so that their backs stroked his chest.

“All right then,” Jack said, his eyes hot on hers, “let’s finish this case up so that we can go home, shall we?”

“Definitely,” Phryne purred. “And maybe we could make a stop somewhere along the way.” Jack smirked a little at that. He thought that he could find a hotel between Maiden Creek and Melbourne that would do quite nicely.

*****

Archie Jones turned Phryne on. Phryne had known that Jack’s voice could send her flying, but if he had actually been a radio personality, she would have made a point to have a wireless in her bedroom for his broadcasts alone. She wanted to lie on her bed, listening to that voice, and make herself come. And the way Archie dressed! Phryne had no idea that seeing Jack’s lovely body in encased in something other than his usual three-piece suit would give her so many ideas.

And Jack seemed to feel the same way; he seemed freer as his radio alter ego. Though she was certain that he liked being Detective Inspector Jack Robinson, Archie Jones had the advantage of not having to worry about making the moves on a pretty new girl at the studio. Archie Jones could take that girl out on the town—all right, to the morgue, but the idea was there. And Archie Jones’ job wouldn’t be jeopardized if anyone found out he’d spent a night or two with the lovely, rather fast Miss Fisher. Phryne hoped that Jack would take Archie’s flirtation to its natural conclusion and allow the radio man to try his luck with her.

She probably wouldn’t play very hard to get if he did; she found that she wanted to seduce the lovely, rather innocent Archie herself. She hoped Jack wouldn’t mind.

*****

Phryne got her first taste of what it might be like if Jack took another lover at the end of the Sanderson-Fletcher case. She watched him with Rosie, saw the care that he took to fold her in his arms to let her cry, and she wondered. Now that Rosie was no longer engaged—at least, Phryne hoped she considered her engagement to that worm Sidney Fletcher as well and truly broken—would Jack want to take another stab at their marriage? Phryne had made no bones about the fact that she had no desire to marry, and she hadn’t even been willing to let Jack be her only lover. The fact that she hadn’t taken another lover in, what, six weeks? That was beside the point. She _could_ and _would_ , if she felt the need to. She just… hadn’t felt the need.

Leaving the station quietly so that she didn’t disturb Jack and Rosie, Phryne headed toward home. Why hadn’t she taken other lovers since Erik in Maiden Creek? She supposed that Jack-as-Archie had sort of provided that moment of difference—he’d certainly done his best to stay in character during that case—and she simply hadn’t felt tempted otherwise. She was sure that she’d met other men, considering that she’d gone out dancing with friends more than once, but each time, she was happy to come home to her empty bed and the next night with Jack. In fact, maybe she’d see if she could come home to Jack the next time she went out—either join him at his house or see if he’d stay at hers. Then she wouldn’t have to wait for the following night. That is, if Jack didn’t decide to go back to Rosie. Absently, she rubbed her breastbone, trying to soothe the ache she felt there. 

Jack sat in his car outside Phryne’s house. The light in her bedroom was still on, and he was certain she’d welcome him. But. Rosie had asked him to stay. She’d wanted for him to hold her, touch her, take away the taint of Sidney’s betrayal with lovemaking. Jack had considered it, strongly. He still cared for Rosie—she’d been his wife for sixteen years, after all. And it was for that reason that he’d finally, gently, turned her down. Phryne had said that it would be all right if he took additional lovers, as she had, but he thought somehow that his ex-wife might be a different story than some woman he’d only just met and had no ties to. So he’d turned Rosie down, but he needed comfort too, which was why he was sitting in his car outside Phryne’s house at two o’clock in the morning, debating whether to go in.

He knew that Phryne had a full house—young Mary had given birth, he’d heard, and for some reason Phryne’s aunt had decided she was needed to stay. So if he went in now, there was a good chance that he’d have no chance for alone time with Phryne. But even the sight of her would help tonight, he decided, so he found himself on the front porch, knocking lightly against the glass beside the door.

Phryne opened the door, knowing that it would be Jack. She looked at him, noting the fatigue on his face.

“I thought you were with Rosie,” she said softly, giving him the permission that she thought he might have wanted, even though the idea that he would take Rosie back to his bed made her stomach hurt. She wasn’t sure why—Rosie seemed to be a nice woman, and Jack had loved her once. _Ah,_ she thought. _Jack had loved her once._ That made her more important to him than any random woman he might take home for a faceless night of pleasure.

“I was. Is it too late?” Jack examined her face. She looked tired. He supposed it had been a busy night for all of them, but Phryne looked almost sad.

“Never,” her answer was almost a whisper, but she could tell that he heard it. She wished that he didn’t have to knock, suddenly. She wanted him to live there, with her and Jane and Dot and Mr Butler. He couldn’t, of course, but she _wanted_ him to.

“I’ve never seen her like that before,” Jack said. “She was in shock; she just needed some company.” He kept his voice low, and she stepped up close as he’d hoped she would. His eyes roamed over her face, knowing that this was his place. With her, always.

“She needed you,” Phryne corrected him softly, knowing that she might be pushing him away, but needing him to know that she saw the truth of who he was. “Jack Robinson. The man who always does the right thing, the noble thing.” And if the noble thing, in this case, was to spend the rest of the night—possibly the rest of his life—with his ex-wife, well, it would be just like the Jack Robinson she knew and… she cut that thought off, revising it. It would be just like Jack to be that noble.

“Not always, Miss Fisher.” His voice was still low, but this time he took the tiniest step toward her, his eyes on hers. He would have kissed her then, as they both wanted, except for the arrival of Prudence Stanley in the dining room doorway.

“Was that the baby?” Mrs Stanley bustled around the corner, stopping when she caught sight of Jack. She eyed him warily. “It’s very late, inspector.”

“Yes, yes it is. But…” he turned to Phryne, the giddiness he felt from being so very nearly caught causing him to do his best to suppress a rather inappropriate smile. He looked back at Phryne. “I’m glad we cleared up that detail.”

“So am I, Jack. So am I.” She nodded knowingly as he moved past her to stand beside the front door.

“It’s all right, little man,” Prudence said when the baby began to fuss again. “I’m coming.” She moved into the parlor and closed the door to block the light from the entryway.

Phryne watched her go, then gestured to Jack to head up the stairs. He looked at her, confused, and she repeated the gesture, this time shaping the word “go!” with her lips as she moved toward the door. Jack smiled slightly and headed past her, climbing the stairs silently to wait at the top.

Phryne opened the door, said “Goodnight, Jack,” and closed the door again. She stuck her head into the parlor and whispered, “Goodnight, Aunt P.” Then, moving quickly in case her aunt decided that it was time for a lecture on proper behavior, she ran lightly up the stairs.

Finding Jack at the top, she moved into his embrace, hugging him hard around the middle and burying her head in his chest. He smelled like himself and a little like Rosie, which made Phryne tighten her arms around him even more. His arms came around her as well, one hand cupping the back of her head, the other pressing into the small of her back. He dropped his head to her shoulder, letting out a long sigh. After a long moment, she let him go, catching his hand and pulling him into her bedroom. Closing the door behind him, she slipped back into his arms, loving the feeling of his arms around her and his hand stroking her hair.

“Oh god, Jack,” she whispered against his chest. “I thought you would stay with Rosie tonight. I’m so glad that you didn’t.”

“I considered it,” he said, and his low voice vibrated against her ear. “She wanted me to. But it didn’t feel right. I wanted you.” His hand on her head slid to her chin, tilting her up to face him. “Are you all right? I know that you said Fletcher didn’t hurt you, but…” Phryne placed the fingers of one hand against his lips.

“Shhh, I’m fine,” she said, stroking his mouth. “Are you? Sanderson meant a lot to you, I know.” Jack shuddered out a breath, and she saw that his eyes were wet.

“He was a good man once,” he said softly. “I’m still having trouble convincing myself that he condoned that… that evil, even having seen it with my own eyes.” He bent to lay his forehead against hers. “How could I not have realized, Phryne? There must have been signs, and I missed them all.”

“Jack, my darling, you are not perfect,” he lifted his head slightly, mesmerized by the movements of her lips as she spoke. She stroked her hand from his mouth up to cup his jaw, her thumb caressing the sharp ridge of his cheekbone. “When you had reason to look, you looked, and harder than anyone else would have. You didn’t let your personal association with him cloud your vision. Not many men could say the same.”

Jack closed his eyes and turned his head to press a kiss into her palm. This was what he’d needed. He knew that his own sense of responsibility, like Phryne’s, would not allow him to feel completely blameless, but he very much appreciated that she’d said it.

“May I stay?” He rumbled against her hand, his eyes still closed.

“Always,” was her soft reply. Pushing up on her toes, she pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Get undressed. I’ll be right back.” She trailed her fingers across his waist and chin as she took a step back; he caught her hand as she moved toward the bathroom, holding lightly, his arm extended, until they were too far apart to touch.

His heart heavy, Jack stripped, folding his overcoat and suit carefully over the arm of the small sofa and lining his shoes up beneath them. He considered pulling on one of the sets of pajamas that Phryne had bought him, but decided that he needed to feel her skin against his, and climbed into bed naked instead.

Phryne moved out of the bathroom, having taken the time to insert her diaphragm, wearing only a short silk nightgown over her bare skin. She paused for a moment to look at Jack, his hair curling out of its pomade, his uncovered arm lying lax atop the coverlet. His eyes were closed, but when she lifted the blankets on the far side of the bed, he opened them to look at her.

“Take that off,” he whispered, “please? I want to feel you. Just you.” Her eyes soft, Phryne did as he asked, crossing her arms to pull the nightgown up and over her head, and draping it over the chair to her vanity.

She climbed in beside Jack, who reached for her, pulling her close. Phryne’s heart hurt at the way he curled around her, and she stroked her fingers through his hair, disturbing his pomade even more. She lifted her leg to clasp it around him, wanting to embrace all of him. They lay there for long moments, skin to skin, and Phryne could feel herself loosening with arousal. Shifting against Jack, she could feel his erection growing against her belly, and she turned her head to kiss him. He opened his mouth against hers, his tongue stroking inside, and she slid one hand down his side to circle it around his cock, beginning a slow pumping rhythm designed to harden him without increasing his urgency. He groaned lightly against her lips, his hands moving to press and glide against her skin.

After a while, he gently pushed her to her back, then moved over her body, one hand trailing up the inside of her thigh to check that she was wet. Circling his fingers around her clit and down to dip inside her, he swallowed her gasp with his mouth. She squeezed his cock lightly, still stroking him, and he shifted to let her position him. When she’d lodged his head within her, she moved her hand to his chest and he pushed slowly and surely, stopping only when he was fully seated. Jack rested his elbows on the bed, sliding his hands under her shoulders and pressing his chest to hers. He closed his eyes and laid his head on her shoulder, sighing softly.

Phryne raised her knees, wrapping her legs around his waist. She stroked her arms around his shoulders, sliding her hands into his hair to hold him close. She loved the feeling of his weight on her and his hard length inside her. Her body would demand movement soon, she knew, but for this moment—this peaceful moment—they just lay there, joined.

Jack breathed her in, feeling the warm clasp of her body around his cock and the softness of her breasts against his chest. _This is my home,_ he thought. He thought a moment of Rosie, alone in her bed, and he pulled Phryne closer. He turned his head to lay his lips against the underside of Phryne’s jaw. _This is everything._ His hands behind her shoulders slid up to cup her head, and he raised himself to lay his lips on hers. The kiss was tender and deep, each of them reveling in the flavor of the other and in the joy of being together at the end of this very long and painful day.

Slowly, his mouth still on hers, Jack undulated his hips, pulling out of Phryne’s body slowly, then pressing back in. He did his best to keep as much of himself touching her as possible, and she helped by wrapping herself around him more tightly. Every few strokes, they’d pause, Jack sheathed inside her; they clung together, slowly pleasuring themselves, for what felt like hours. Finally, Jack turned his mouth on her neck to kiss the soft skin behind her ear, and with the feel of his breath so close, Phryne felt orgasm roll over her in long, liquid pulses. Feeling her contract around him, he followed her over, their twin moans low and muffled against the other’s skin.

Jack lay, replete, atop Phryne, her arms and legs still twined around his body. Reaching down to slide her leg off of his hip, Jack rolled with her until she lay on his chest, their bodies still joined. She raised her head to kiss him, slow and sweet, before nestling against his chest with a sleepy sigh. Jack held her to him as her body relaxed into slumber, gently stroking her back. Pressing a kiss to her temple, he whispered the words he knew that she didn’t want to hear, but that he had to say.

“I love you, Phryne Fisher,” and with a sigh, he let himself drift off to sleep.

Phryne didn’t move. The words washed over her, dreamlike, coating her skin in golden sparkles. She heard them ricochet through her body like shrapnel, but instead of pain, they brought warmth and a kind of bliss, followed by an icy chill of fear. She had known for some time that he felt that way, and she’d hoped he would never say it. Now that he had, she was torn between joy and alarm.

On the one hand, Jack Robinson was the best man she’d ever known. He was kind and noble and open-minded, and the antithesis of the men who had taught her that love and torture could be synonymous. But on the other hand, when a man said the word _love_ , in Phryne’s experience, it was as if the use of that word gave them an excuse to bully or beat a woman. Both her father and Rene had terrorized her with their “love,” and the word triggered far too many negative emotions for Phryne to ever be truly comfortable with it. She knew, intellectually, that Jack was nothing like her father, and certainly nothing like Rene. Jack would never use his love as a weapon the way those men did. Her mind knew that, but her gut was churning.

Phryne tightened her arms around Jack, and he murmured her name in his sleep. She held him as he slept, breathing in his musky scent, wishing that her body could shield him from her demons. She vowed to herself that she would not sabotage this relationship with Jack just because she was frightened by how he felt—and by how her own feelings seemed to echo his. Repeating that vow to herself, Phryne clasped him close against her body, and she didn’t sleep at all.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note: This chapter contains my version of Jack's "liberal man" speech from 3x01. It's similar in tone to the show's diatribe (I hope), but Phryne gets to have her say; it also contains a blink-and-you'll-miss-it flashback to Phryne's terrible relationship with Rene Dubois. I hope that doesn't keep you away.

Jack stood in the doorway of his office, attempting to use his reflection in the window to check his appearance. Phryne had invited him over for dinner tonight, and he wanted to look his best. It had been almost two weeks since the Sanderson-Fletcher case had closed, and he’d never been happier. Phryne had welcomed him into her bed every night before she left for her botched Christmas in July, and then again when they’d returned to town after the danger had passed. Jack was feeling quietly optimistic, though part of him was just waiting for the other shoe to drop. He knew that she would still take other men to her bed if she found them intriguing enough, and he tried not to allow that to weigh him down. She was choosing to spend most of her time with him, wasn’t she?

The front desk was unattended when the phone rang, so Jack moved over to answer it. He was pleased to hear Phryne’s voice on the other end of the line until her words registered.

“Jack, I’m afraid I need to cancel dinner tonight,” Phryne said, her voice light. “I have an unexpected visitor to entertain.”

“Of course, Miss Fisher. No doubt an unexpected guest is far more enticing than an expected one.” Jack couldn’t believe it. She hadn’t expressed interest in another man in weeks. He’d hoped she had decided that she no longer needed them, but apparently that wasn’t the case. Although he really had no idea whether she’d really been abstaining from other men since she’d dallied with the vintner in Maiden Creek. Perhaps she had, but just hadn’t told him? He didn’t like to think it—Phryne was usually very honest—but he found himself wondering nonetheless.

This one, whoever he was, was obviously rather urgently desired, if she couldn’t bear to wait until they hadn’t had something scheduled. He set the handset softly back into its cradle and headed back into his office. Well, he wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight, so he might as well get some work done.

*****

“Jack—” she started, but he’d hung up. He couldn’t really think that she would cancel on him for some passing fancy? She set the handset back in its cradle. Well, she’d just have to make it up to him. But first, she had to deal with her unwelcome visitor.

An hour later, she was thrilled to see Jack at the crime scene. She’d be able to let him know what was going on—her father’s presence in her house was unfortunate, but not crippling. She was relieved that he didn’t seem angry.

“Have you finished fraternizing?” His voice was cool. She’d seen his narrow-eyed gaze when she was flirting with the stage manager, but she didn’t think he really believed she had any interest in that toady little man.

“Don’t be like that. That really is a rather a nice tie,” she said, reaching up to touch it, then running her hands down his lapels. “So, would you like to take another look at the body with me?” She stepped close, only a breath away from pressing herself fully against his chest.

“Is that an invitation?” His tone was dry, and he was watching her warily.

“Well, I could wait all day for yours,” she replied saucily.

“Miss Fisher!” Phryne and Jack both looked toward the entrance, where Bert stood in the doorway. “Got a man o’ yours in the cab. Reckons he’s taking you for supper at the Green Mill.” Jack’s lips pressed together, his wary expression hardening.

“Run along, Miss Fisher,” he said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “I wouldn’t want you to neglect your social commitments.”

“Jack, it’s really not as social as you think,” she sputtered, but he was already walking away. Whatever was wrong with Jack tonight? As soon as she’d dealt with her father, she’d go to Jack’s house and explain. In the meantime, she had a case to solve.

*****

Later, having packed her father off to the Windsor, Phryne pulled up in front of Jack’s house. The light in his parlor was on, so she lifted her small overnight bag and headed up to rap quietly on the door.

At the sound of her knock, Jack’s eyebrows rose incredulously. There was only one person who would come calling this late at night, but he’d thought Miss Fisher was otherwise engaged. Unless she’d decided that one man wasn’t enough for the night? He knocked back the last of his whisky before setting the glass down and heading toward the door. He couldn’t believe how angry he was at her—she’d made him feel unimportant, which was something she’d never done before. That seemed to bear out his assumptions of her waning interest, and he knew that if he didn’t stand up for what he needed, he’d lose all self-respect.

Opening the door, he looked at her, his face impassive. She beamed up at him.

“Hello Jack,” she said brightly. He stepped back, allowing her to enter. “I’m sorry that it’s so late. I had to get rid of—”

“I don’t believe I asked you to come by tonight, Miss Fisher,” he said, cutting her off.

“Well, no, you didn’t, but I thought that since we weren’t able to have dinner that I—”

“And I’m not sure that I want to be your second choice of an evening, given that you can’t be bothered to let me know when you feel the need to invite someone else into your home,” his voice was cold, and Phryne’s head snapped back as if he’d slapped her. “We had an agreement, Miss Fisher, but perhaps that was too much _commitment_ for you?”

“Jack, I—” she stared at him, bewildered.

“What was he this time, Phryne? An acrobat? An exotic red Indian from the American West? A flamenco dancer whose hip thrusts you just couldn’t pass up?” He was pacing now, gesturing with both hands as his anger and hurt spewed, uncontrolled, out of him.

“What are you talking about, Jack?” She tried to approach him, her hands outstretched, but he held up his palms to fend her off.

“I have tried to be liberal minded about these other men, but my pride cannot take you brushing me off just so that you can _fuck_ some _stranger_ who apparently means more to you than I do!” He swung his arms wide, his voice rising to a shout. Stepping close to her, he grasped her arms, not noticing when her face went white. “I am not some plaything to be discarded when you find something new, and I won’t be treated as if I don’t matter!” Releasing her, he turned away, shoving one hand into his hair, the other on his hip.

Behind him, Phryne made herself breathe. Jack had not hurt her—he would never hurt her—but his angry face ( _oh god, his eyes had been so hard and his cheeks were so red and his mouth had been twisted into the most awful shape_ ) had never been directed at her this way. For just a moment, she’d been back in Paris, pressed against the wall of an alley as Rene pushed himself into her, shouting into her face as she cried because she was dry and it hurt and he wouldn’t let go… She closed her eyes, breathing deeply, her arms wrapped around her waist. This was Jack. He was angry, yes, but she could deal with angry men. And Jack would not hurt her, at least not physically.

She tried to focus on what he had been saying—something about his being her second choice for the evening, and about other men? Did he think that she had come to him directly from someone else’s bed? She’d said she would tell him if she felt the need to sleep with someone else—she’d promised, and she always kept her promises. The cold fear in her stomach began to turn to colder fury.

“Well, perhaps if you feel like you’re my second choice,” she heard herself say, as if from very far away, “you’d prefer not to be any choice at all.” He spun toward her, his face stricken.

“Phryne, I—”

“No, it’s my turn now, Jack,” she looked up at him, her eyes blazing. “If you think so little of me that you can’t even give me the benefit of the doubt, then I suppose our friendship isn’t as strong as I always thought it was.” She leaned over to pick up the overnight bag at her feet, a little shocked to see that they were still standing directly in front of the door.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go back home and see if I can figure out what brought my father to my door this evening.” She spun on her heel and wrenched open the door.

“Your—” Jack’s whisper went unnoticed by Phryne, who was already stalking toward her car.

*****

Phryne drove away from Jack’s house, her eyes dry though the pain in her chest was excruciating. She was well rid of him. How could he think so poorly of her? She ignored the fact that she had known that it would be difficult for Jack to cope with her occasional forays outside their sexual relationship, and she hadn’t actually told him that her last few extracurricular experiences had been less exciting, when finished, than she’d originally anticipated. But she had promised she’d tell him if she felt the need, and she hadn’t felt the need! He should have understood that, and trusted her.

She should have known, though. He’d said he loved her. The three magic words that had never caused her anything but grief. Love ruined everything. She’d been a fool to think that just because Jack was noble and kind and wonderful and… She drew in a sharp breath. No. He’d made his opinion of her more than clear.

Well, if that was the way he wanted it, fine. She would find her pleasure in other beds than his. She’d done it before. And just because she found his company to be more exciting than most didn’t mean that she needed him. She would finish the circus case, if only to be rid of her father, and then she would move on. Without Jack.

*****

Jack stood in the doorway for a moment, his whole body frozen with the horror of his mistake. By the time he managed to move to the doorway, she was gone. He made his way to his parlor on wobbly knees. What had just happened? He’d never shouted at anyone like that—much less the woman he was in love with. Her father was her unexpected guest? Why hadn’t she just said as much? He sat down heavily in his armchair, elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. Replaying their conversations, he realized that he’d never given her the chance. He’d hung up on her when she’d called him at the station to cancel on dinner. And he’d walked away from her at the circus. He was a fool.

And what had he said? He’d accused her of putting other men ahead of him when she’d never done anything of the sort. She’d promised him that she would tell him if she felt the need to take another man to her bed, and he knew how strongly she felt about her promises. If she hadn’t said anything about other men, that meant that she hadn’t wanted anyone else. For weeks. Jack groaned. He had done two unforgivable things tonight—he’d impugned her honor, implying that she’d broken a promise, and he’d attempted to shame her for sleeping with whomever she chose to. She might never forgive him. And he couldn’t say that he would blame her.

*****

Phryne managed to use Dot and Hugh as intermediaries between herself and Jack for the remainder of the case. He had tried to pull her aside more than once, but she had evaded him. When he’d rushed to break the water tank to save her from drowning in her guise as the Miraculous Mermaid, she’d felt a rush of gratitude, but she tamped it down hard. She’d headed backstage with nothing more than a chilly “thank you,” and she filled Dot in on Miss Callahan’s attempt at sabotage so that Dot could let Jack and Hugh know what she’d found out. When Phryne was dry and dressed, she slipped out the back, heading home. She wasn’t avoiding him, she told herself. She just wanted some alone time.

And it hadn’t really even hurt to dodge Jack today. True, being the Miraculous Mermaid hadn’t been as fun as she’d thought it would be, but she’d managed a smile both before and after. Now she was just tired. She wanted a warm bath and her bed, and to fall into sleep. She’d had trouble sleeping the night before because she had still been angry at Jack. Not anymore, though. She was over him. Mostly.

*****

Jack looked for Phryne after Miss Callahan had been carted off to gaol, without much hope that she was still in the building. He’d tried to catch her several times, but she’d sent Dot and even Hugh to intercept him. When Dot had come to him with the evidence Miss Fisher had found, Jack had known that Phryne would probably be running out on the case’s denouement. Once he’d assisted Hugh with the paperwork on this case, he’d considered heading over to Wardlow to try and make things right with Phryne, but he didn’t know quite what to say.

Sighing, he leaned back in his desk chair and poured himself a drink. He had to do something. He couldn’t let her go on thinking that he didn’t trust her or that he thought she had loose morals. He had to find a way to let her know that it had only been his own insecurity breaking loose—that he had trouble believing she could actually care for him. Not because she wasn’t capable of caring, but because he was so… ordinary. She was an incredible woman who could have anyone, and the idea that she’d settle for him seemed preposterous. And yet, she had. She’d not only stayed with him, she’d seemed happy about it. Maybe he needed to figure out how to see in himself what she saw. If he wanted to be worthy of her, he had to value himself. And until he figured out what he had to offer Phryne, he’d always be waiting for her to walk away.

*****

The following morning, Mr Butler woke her with news of a phone call from a Group Captain Compton of the RAAF, who claimed to be an old friend. Phryne took the call and agreed to come out to the base to discuss a sensitive case. She chose an outfit that was mostly khaki—she believed that it’s sometimes important to blend in, and it reminded her of her days in the service—but finished it with a bright coral velvet coat on top; it wouldn’t do to completely blend in, and she didn’t really want to remember all of those days.

Arriving at the base, Phryne was thrilled to see that Lyle Compton was just as delightfully handsome as he had been years before. He was similar in height to Jack, she thought, with a slightly broader build. He’d feel different pressed against her, should she choose to revisit old memories with him. That was a good thing, she assured herself, and she tested it by climbing onto the back of his motorcycle for a thrilling morning ride.

When Jack entered Compton’s office later that morning, her heart leapt, and she smiled before she remembered that she was angry at him. She introduced Compton as an old friend, and Jack’s tilted head let her know that he understood her underlying meaning. And she’d subsided when Compton barked her name, not seeing the clenching of Jack’s jaw at this further evidence of their familiarity. It wasn’t till after Jack left that she informed Compton that she wouldn’t be standing in the way of Jack’s investigation.

Helping Jack just seemed like the right thing to do, and she told herself that she wasn’t upset that he didn’t bring up their fight. She didn’t want to talk about that anyway. And when the opportunity for a little reminiscing with Compton came up, she threw herself into it. It was pleasant, and Compton was as facile a lover as he had been in the past, though it didn’t match up to her memory of their first adrenaline-filled, life-affirming sex.

It wasn’t until she heard the sirens and realized that Jack and Hugh had been investigating on the base without leave—something that he never would have done before, which pointed to the fact that he had needed her help and she wasn’t available—that she wondered just what she was doing. The look on Jack’s face when he saw her wrapped only in Compton’s overcoat was sad but accepting, as if he had known she’d be in another man’s arms so soon after leaving him. Her stomach swooped as she watched him walk away, and she fought her own instinct to run after him. When Compton came to wrap an arm around her shoulders and pull her back to where her clothes lay scattered, she went with him quietly, not looking back.

*****

Jack watched Phryne walk away under that RAAF captain’s arm, his heart heavy in his chest. He knew that if he was going to pursue her in earnest, he had work to do on himself before he had any chance of keeping her with him. She respected his strength, he knew, but he felt so very weak when it came to her. He nodded to himself. That would have to change, and soon.

He thought back to the past days’ work. She’d assisted him in this investigation, and he’d thought their rhythm was still there, even when she was asking “how high” when Compton told her to jump. But she hadn’t made personal comments when she spoke to Jack, and she hadn’t flirted with him the way she would have before their fight. Maybe he needed to be the one to flirt with her; a strong, confident man would take action to get what he wanted. He clenched his jaw and forced himself to put that thought aside for the moment. He’d consider it later; for now, he needed to concentrate on the case.


	8. Chapter 8

It was only a few days later when Phryne met Jack outside of Carbone’s. She did her best to smile at him as if nothing had changed between them, and she saw Jack try to smile as well. Phryne could tell that Jack knew Guido Carbone personally, just from the short exchange she witnessed between the two men. But Jack refused to tell her what was going on—it felt an awful lot like when he’d tried to push her out of previous investigations. Could he be angry with her about that fight? No, Jack was sure to see that he was in the wrong in that matter, so perhaps he was trying to distance himself again as requested. She was a little surprised that he hadn’t approached her again after the RAAF case; he didn’t seem like the type to give up so easily. Not that she wanted him to continue to pursue her.

Exchanging a confused glance with Dot, she said, “What do you think that was about?” Dot’s information about the use of the word Camorra sent Phryne hurrying after Jack.

“Jack, you didn’t think I’d be frightened off by the Camorra, did you?” She said to his back, when he refused to stop and talk to her.

“No, I knew you’d be drawn to it like a moth to a flame. That’s why I’m keeping you out of it. You have no idea how ruthless these people can be.” Jack gave her a stern look. He didn’t try to fool himself; now there’d be no keeping her out of it.

Despite that knowledge, Jack had hoped to keep Phryne away from Strano’s, partly because of Concetta. He’d struck up a friendship with the lovely young widow almost a year before, even though he hadn’t been able to solve her husband’s murder. He’d thought, for a while, that their friendship might become more—Concetta would make some lucky man a wonderful wife—but then Phryne Fisher whirled into his life and blinded him to any other women.

He was rather intrigued, then, when Phryne began not-so-subtly pumping him for information about the Italian widow. He had called Concetta an “old friend,” and was pleased to watch Phryne’s expression turn speculative. Their original agreement had included permission on both of their parts to pursue other people if they chose to, and Jack had considered spending a night or two with Concetta. He thought she probably would have welcomed him, but in the end it felt too much like he would have been using her. Concetta was a traditional woman, and chances were that she would have expected a commitment from a man who was her lover, even if she never admitted it.

For Phryne, the realization that Jack hadn’t mentioned his association with a beautiful Italian widow came as a shock. She was reasonably certain that Jack would not have slept with Concetta Fabrizzi during the time he’d been in her own bed—he had promised to tell her if he did—but it was possible that things had changed since she’d broken it off with him. It had only been two days since their fight, it was true, but there was a closeness between Jack and the woman that surprised Phryne.

Without thinking it through too deeply, Phryne went back to Strano’s at closing time. Her conversation with Concetta was short, but she left knowing that Concetta was kind, and certainly far more traditional than Phryne herself was. It sounded as if Jack might be pursuing her, too. Phryne’s heart squeezed at the idea that he might have recovered from their breakup so quickly. Concetta was the type of woman that a man married, and Jack was the type of man who wanted to marry.

Phryne tried to convince herself that the idea of Jack Robinson marrying again was a good one. He would be happier, she thought, with a more traditional relationship than he’d had with her. But when she found herself in a position to be lustfully compromised with the dashing Guido Carbone later that same evening, Phryne found herself reluctant to go farther than a few kisses. Guido was a passionate man, but he felt… wrong to Phryne. She had gripped his biceps and found them larger and rounder than she wanted; she’d felt his lips on her neck and thought that they were too soft and fleshy. And his scent was wrong—he should smell of whisky and soap and a lovely underlying musk, but instead she smelled marinara and spices. She managed to extricate herself gracefully, leaving Guido happily wanting more, and she went home to her lonely bed.

What was wrong with her? She had always appreciated the differences between men, but now she only wanted ropey muscles and cyclists’ thighs, and deep voices that stroked like velvet across her skin. What had Jack Robinson done to her?

*****

Jack was encouraged when he heard that Phryne had gone to meet Concetta after the restaurant closed that first night. As Jane Austen’s Mr Darcy once said, “it taught him to hope again.” He couldn’t see any case-related reason for Phryne to have gone to Strano’s, and it made him wonder whether she’d been trying to find out about his relationship with Concetta. And then Phryne had stroked his lapels and told him to be careful in his investigation into the Camorra. He approached the day’s work with a spring in his step and a lightness of heart.

He was surprised that evening when Concetta offered herself to him—he knew that she was offering marriage, and at one time, that would have been all he wanted. But he was older now, and divorced, and though he missed the comforts of marriage and would welcome them again, he knew that it took determination and steady commitment from both parties to make a marriage succeed. If his heart was engaged elsewhere, that determination and commitment would be difficult to come by. So he told Concetta that he would consider it, and then he went home, poured himself a whiskey, and considered.

Concetta was willing to be his wife. If he took her up on her offer, he would come home to a beautiful, kind woman who would happily keep his house, cook his meals, and tend his children, should they be so blessed. She would not ask about or expect him to discuss his work, and her only expectations would be that he would provide for her and be faithful to her. He thought that she would likely be an eager lover, and he knew that he would find pleasure in her arms. He would very likely be a content and happy man as her husband, but he would have to give up any possibility of a relationship beyond friendship with Phryne, and even that friendship would need to be curtailed lest it undermine his marital bonds. The thought caused his heart to squeeze painfully.

He poured himself a second whiskey and considered the possibilities for a committed relationship with Phryne. He knew that she was unlikely to ever marry, and if he could coax her back into his arms, it would never be a comfortable life. Instead, she would challenge him on so many levels—intellectually, morally, sexually, and so much more—and he would spend every day trying to rise to meet her _joie de vivre_. And it might not even last; she might tire of him, and it was possible that he might decide that she was too much work. But if he didn’t reach for what could be with Phryne, he thought that he was likely to regret its loss for the rest of his life.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back in his comfortable wing chair. It seemed that he had his answer.

Sitting in Phryne’s parlor the next morning, nursing a glass of Mr Butler’s hangover cure to combat the aftereffects of the three—or was it four?—glasses of whisky he’d drunk, he did his best to banter with the woman he’d chosen. She was obviously well-rested, and she was oddly cheerful, which he hoped had to do with his presence. Even with his aching head, he managed what he thought were some good, flirtatious questions, such as “what greater force is there than thwarted love?” And she asked him a number of things about his evening, something she had never done before. He rather thought she was trying to suss out whether he’d spent the night with Concetta, and he smiled to himself.

*****

Phryne noted Jack’s small smile at her questioning. What was she supposed to think? The fact that he’d shown up at her kitchen door this morning to request a hangover tonic from Mr Butler was out of the ordinary. Had he spent the evening before enjoying grappa before taking Concetta Fabrizzi to bed? Or was there some other reason he might have overindulged? She tried not to gloat that it was her door he’d come to this morning rather than Concetta’s. As they sat together on the sofa in her parlor, she found herself breathing in his scent; it seemed to calm her mind as she idly flipped through Nonna Louisa’s account book yet again, and she noticed something she hadn’t before.

She glanced at Jack as they passed ideas back and forth. His hair was rather adorably less groomed than was his usual style; it reminded her abruptly of how it looked after she ran her fingers through it. Perhaps he hadn’t been home yet, and his hair was mussed from Concetta’s fingers? She was surprised by the pain that thought caused. She looked him over. No, this was not the same suit that he’d worn the night before—she’d had no idea that she even noticed such things about him, but she was certain of it—and he now wore the tie he’d worn the night of their fight, a fantastic swirl of blue and red that she had used as an excuse to touch him backstage at the circus.

Phryne’s fingers itched to tuck his curl back into its usual public placement; that softer style was more private, somehow, something that only happened when he was Jack the man, not Detective Inspector Robinson. And as much as she enjoyed her friendship with the inspector, she missed Jack the man. She missed his smile and his kisses, and the way that his arms felt when they were wrapped around her. Phryne wished for a moment that they could turn back the clock to the night of that fight, that the outcome of it could be different. But now if Jack had begun a romantic relationship with Concetta Fabrizzi, it might be too late. She drew in a breath, watching Jack down the last of his hangover cure. She supposed she’d just have to wait and see.

*****

Phryne tried to hide her shock when Concetta’s grandfather said that Concetta would marry Roberto Salvatore, but she couldn’t keep her eyes from darting to Jack’s face. He was unsurprised, but she read something else in his almost deliberate lack of expression. He’d known that Concetta was engaged, but he wasn’t sure it would happen. Concetta didn’t seem like a particularly happy bride-to-be; perhaps she’d discussed this with Jack? Phryne had a moment of insight similar to those she’d had on cases before. Perhaps Jack knew about it because Concetta had told him, and he seemed sure it wouldn’t happen because he knew that her plan was to marry someone else… like Jack.

Phryne struggled to keep her sudden panic from showing on her face. If Jack married Concetta, there would be no chance that he would resume a relationship with Phryne. She should be happy for him, shouldn’t she? He was her friend, before anything else, and real friends wished each other happiness. But oh, it hurt to think that he would belong to someone else. She pushed the sick feeling in her stomach down, suppressing it; she needed to concentrate on the case for now. She’d figure out what was going on with Jack later.

*****

Mariana Carbone’s assistance with identifying Roberto Salvatore as the one who’d been contracted to kill Concetta’s husband might be enough, Jack thought, to commute her murder sentence into prison time. She’d still be away from her Vincenzo for a long time, but chances were she wouldn’t hang. He found himself happy for that, for Vincenzo’s sake—the young man was so very much in love, and he’d become a friend.

By the time that he finished the paperwork involved with arresting Salvatore and Pappa Antonio Strano—it was just as much a crime to order arson as it was to commit it—it was late. Jack went to Strano’s as Concetta had requested when he left earlier. He knew that she would want his answer to her proposal. He wondered how to tell her. Jack didn’t want to hurt Concetta, and with her grandfather in gaol, she and Vincenzo would have to decide what to do with Strano’s.

“Have you thought about it, Gianni?” Concetta’s voice was warm, but her fingers, clasped in his on the table, were cool. He thought she might be nervous. “What I am offering to you?”

“I’ve thought of nothing else,” he said, a slight exaggeration, given the fact that he’d been working on a case, but not so far outside the truth that it made him uncomfortable. Her pleased smile warmed him.

“First,” she went on, “there is something I need to make sure of. For myself.” Jack met her eyes, so dark and lovely, and nodded carefully. He thought he knew what this test would entail, and he couldn’t decide what to hope for. Perhaps Concetta’s kiss would be just as electric as Phryne’s, or perhaps it would be pleasant but not earth-shattering. Either way, his decision could be made for him.

He did his best to give himself to the kiss, closing his eyes and welcoming the pressure of her mouth, the small touch of her tongue. Her lips were soft, her hands in his hair and on his cheeks delicate. He felt everything she was offering him, and knew that he’d offered her nothing in return. Concetta’s kiss was not the one he yearned for, and she could certainly tell.

“You don’t need to say it,” she murmured, still cupping his face, her forehead leaning against his. She spoke a string of Italian, much too quick for him to understand, and seeing his confusion, she smiled a little sadly. “Your heart is taken.”

He knew that she was right. And yet. “I care for you,” he said, wishing that the small hand on his cheek could elicit the fire of longing that Phryne’s did. “You deserve to be happy—”

She cut him off with more murmured Italian, her fingers stroking his jaw soothingly. “I will be fine,” she said, her eyes sad, but her mouth curving into a smile. “You know, Roberto will hang, and when I marry again, it will be for love. But you are taken.”

Jack met Concetta’s eyes, wishing that he could love this remarkable woman the way that she deserved, and knowing that she was right. His heart had been handed into the custody of a certain raven-haired siren who had no idea what to do with it. It was time to see whether he could educate Phryne.


	9. Chapter 9

Phryne sat in her parlor listening to Italian opera and wondering whether Jack was now an engaged man. She was not surprised, really, that she could feel her heart breaking—she had finally looked deeply into her own motivations and uncovered the fear that had been lurking beneath them. It had been years since she’d felt as happy and at peace as she had when she was with Jack. She had tried to tell herself that love was not for her, that her father and Rene had polluted it enough that she couldn’t (wouldn’t) feel it anymore, but she was aware that that idea wouldn’t hold up under scrutiny. She very much feared that she was in love with Jack Robinson, and if he was to belong to someone else, she wasn’t sure what she’d do. Probably wish him well, possibly attempt to go on with their friendship, though she thought she might get embarrassingly close to pining if she wasn’t careful.

When Mr Butler came to the door to announce that the inspector had arrived, her first thought was that he’d come to tell her his good news. She steeled herself to smile and congratulate him. But then she saw that he was alone and that he carried a bottle of wine—not champagne—and she allowed herself to hope a little that she’d misunderstood.

“Not eating Italian tonight, Jack?”

“Strano’s is closed,” he tilted his head at her in that way he had, his eyes on hers.

“I guess you’ll have to make do with me.” It was a question, and her eyes searched his, looking to see whether what she hoped for was there.

“I guess we’ll have to make do with each other.” His was a statement of intent. Phryne smiled, radiant. He wanted her after all.

“Could you get us some glasses, Mr B?” She called, never taking her eyes off of Jack’s smiling face, so she missed that Mr Butler was already setting two wine glasses on the drinks tray. He came to take the bottle from Jack with a smile.

“Have a seat, Jack,” she said, and he settled on the end of the chaise. Phryne stood to meet Mr B and take the two wineglasses from him with a murmur of thanks; Mr Butler nodded and, with a small smile, left the parlor, closing the doors as he went. When she turned, Jack was watching her. She handed him one glass and sat down beside him.

“Phryne, I owe you an apology.” Jack’s voice was soft, and he toyed with the wineglass in his hands, not meeting her eyes. “I’m sorry for the things I said. I can’t say that I didn’t mean them, but they were my problems, not yours. I knew that you would not have broken a date with me for another man without some sort of explanation, but I—” He shook his head. “I was jealous and insecure.” He turned his head to look at her, his eyes eloquent. “Will you give me another chance to show you that I can be the liberal-minded man you need?”

“You frightened me, Jack,” she replied, her voice a whisper. “I knew that you weren’t going to hurt me, but in that moment…” Jack sat up, his face stricken.

“Oh, Phryne, I had no idea,” he breathed. He closed his eyes a moment and swallowed hard. “No wonder you wouldn’t talk to me.”

“I was frightened of more than your temper, though,” she admitted softly. Now it was her turn to avoid his eyes. She needed to say this, but it would take all of her considerable courage. “I have had experience with men who said they loved me.”

Jack’s mind flashed back to the quiet declaration that he’d thought had gone unheard.

“And both times I allowed myself to believe it, it did not turn out well.” She rolled her lips together. “Both my father and Rene used love as a weapon, and it is the most effective weapon of them all.” She lifted the glass of wine to her lips and took a rather large drink. She could feel Jack’s eyes on her. “I told myself that I would never again allow myself to love a man, because that love, like long hair, can be used to hold you in place while you’re being abused.”

“Phryne…” Jack’s voice was a whisper, anguish in his tone.

“But I had decided that you were different, Jack,” and here she finally looked at him, her eyes starry with tears. “I could let myself love you because you would never use my love to hurt me.”

Jack shook his head, his eyebrows drawn together with the idea that he’d blundered so very badly. “And then I did hurt you,” he breathed, thinking back on what he’d said and done in his anger. On a swiftly indrawn breath, he sat up straight. “Phryne, I grabbed your arms—did I harm you that way too?”

“No! No, Jack,” she reached out to lay one hand on his knee, and he immediately covered it with his, his fingers interlacing with hers.

“Thank god,” he said, his fingers spasming against hers.

“And you didn’t use what I felt for you against me, either, Jack,” she said quietly, relishing his touch. “But your accusations hurt, so much that it scared me. If you could hurt me this much without even knowing my feelings, what would you be able to do once you had that leverage?”

He opened his mouth to speak, already shaking his head, but she cut him off. “I know, Jack. I think I knew that if you had been sure of me, you wouldn’t have jumped to the conclusion you did. But I was running scared by then.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “And by the time I realized how much I missed you, Concetta was there, and I thought I was too late.”

Jack reached to set his wineglass on the table, then raised his hand to cup Phryne’s cheek, turning her face to his.

“Never,” he said, his voice ragged. “I cannot imagine my life without you in it, Phryne Fisher.”

Phryne caught her breath. He meant that, her Jack. Overcome, she leaned in and kissed him with everything she had. He kissed her back, his hand still holding hers, his fingers spearing into her hair. Closing her eyes, Phryne savored the taste of him.

Jack thought his heart would burst with happiness. She was kissing him as if her life depended on it, and he was kissing her back the same way. Her mouth tasted of rich red wine and her own essence, a flavor that he hadn’t been able to forget.

After long moments, they parted, resting their foreheads together, Jack’s hand stroking the back of Phryne’s neck.

“So what now, Jack?” Phryne’s voice was little more than a whisper. “Do we continue our waltz, slow and close?”

“As close as you’ll have me, for as long as you want me,” he replied.

“Very close, then,” Phryne huffed out a laugh. “And I can’t promise forever, but I can’t imagine not wanting you, Jack Robinson.” She pressed another soft kiss to his lips. “I want you now,” she whispered.

In response, he stood and pulled her up after him. Keeping her fingers entwined with his, he stooped to gather up his untouched glass of wine and the bottle in his other hand.

“Lead the way, Miss Fisher,” he said, and his small smile brought an answering one to her lips. Tugging him behind her, she led him to the stairs, anticipation thrumming through her body. The warm clasp of his hand and the idea that soon she’d have him naked in her bed made her catch her lip between her teeth.

Behind her, Jack could feel himself hardening. The thoughts swirling in his mind—of loving her again, of kissing her beautiful skin, of sinking into her body—shortened his breath. He wished that he could take a drink of his wine, just to calm himself a little, but with the bottle clasped in his hand in addition to his glass, the chance for disaster was too great. He licked his lips, tasting her kisses there, and he felt himself calm. She still wanted him; she’d said that she couldn’t imagine not wanting him. She’d even implied that she was letting herself love him. He felt an incredulous smile curve his lips.

Phryne pulled Jack into her boudoir and closed the door behind them. Pressing herself against him, she kissed him again, hungrily, before pulling away with a  soft “Give me a minute?”

Jack nodded, stroking her hand with his fingers as she let go. He set the wine bottle down on the bedside table, took a drink of his wine, and set it down to begin undressing.

Phryne moved into her bathroom, loving the slide of Jack’s fingers against hers. Impatient to get back to him, she quickly pulled off her clothing, inserted her diaphragm, and donned her silver robe. Picking up her wineglass again, she opened the door and moved back into the bedroom, her eyes seeking Jack immediately. He was leaning with one hand on the edge of the bed, removing his shoes and socks; he’d already removed all the layers on his upper half, and the sight of his naked back and chest sent a rush of arousal through Phryne. He looked up as she entered, and his face reflected the desire she felt. She moved toward him, placing one hand on his waist as she leaned past him to place her wineglass beside his on the table.

Jack caught his breath at her touch. Had it really been less than two weeks since he’d last felt her skin on his? It seemed like much longer. When she stood up again, she wrapped both arms around his middle and leaned against his chest; his arms came around her and he held her close, his head dropping to her shoulder to breathe her in. He stroked her back, and the silk of her robe was warm from her body as it slid sensually against his palms.

Phryne stood there for a moment, enjoying just holding him, feeling his breath on her neck and inhaling the scent of his skin. She rested her hands at the small of his back, her thumbs softly stroking the dip of his spine. When she lifted her face, his mouth was there to capture hers, and the tender moment transformed into heat. Suddenly, she couldn’t get enough of him, and she slid her arms up around his neck to pull herself closer. She gave a small hop to wrap her legs around his waist, and he shifted his hands to cup her bottom for support. Stepping back, he sat on the edge of the bed, Phryne coming to rest on his lap.

Jack moved to untie her robe, then pushed it back off of her shoulders as he continued to kiss her. Her hands had fallen to his waist, and she was busily unfastening his trousers. When she had them undone, Phryne pulled back from Jack’s mouth and planted her knees beside his hips on the bed. She slipped her hands into the back of his trousers and smalls; Jack set his hands on the bed and lifted his hips slightly, allowing her to push them off over his buttocks, her small hands like fire against his skin.

Clothing out of their way, Phryne covered Jack’s mouth again, her tongue thrusting against his as she reached between them to take his erection in her hand and guide it into her body. Both of them moaned as he filled her, and they paused, feeling as if they had come home. Jack moved one hand to cup her hip, continuing to brace himself with the other as Phryne began to rise and fall along his length. She ran her hands across his shoulders, sliding her fingers into the soft hair at the back of his head as she pumped against him. He watched the space between them. Seeing himself appear and disappear into her body and her breasts bobbing with her movement sent the blood rushing to his cock, and he stiffened even more, drawing a squeak from Phryne, whose rhythm sped up.

The room filled with the slapping sounds of their flesh and the ringing of their breathing as both strove toward climax. Jack dipped his head to take her nipple in his mouth, his tongue sliding wetly around it before he latched on to suckle. Phryne keened at the sensation, feeling as if he had discovered a direct line to her clit, which throbbed with each pull of his mouth at her nipple. When he let go, she whined, but he was only moving to give the other breast the same treatment.

“Jaaaa-aack,” she cried, her voice breathy. “Please…”

In the next moment, she felt Jack’s fingers sliding between her legs, two digits pressing at her clitoris before opening in a V to slip down to either side of the sensitive nub. His hand came to rest with her clitoris captured between the bases of his two middle fingers, the tips splayed to either side of her passage and his own flesh. The slight additional pressure of the rise of his hand and the tiny pinch on her clit, combined with his continued suckling at her breast, were enough to shatter Phryne. She yelled his name as she came, her hips stuttering against him; he felt the powerful pulses of her climax along his shaft as if she was milking him. He followed her over, his own shout of her name muffled against her skin.

Phryne collapsed against Jack’s chest, and he fell backward to the mattress. He lay there, breathing heavily, feeling her soft weight against him. Her arms shifted around his neck to pull him closer, and he stroked her back, dropping soft kisses against her hair and whispering her name.

After a while, she raised her head and looked at him, her eyes tender. “Will you stay, Jack?”

He met her eyes, knowing that all the love he felt for her was shining from his, but he only nodded. She seemed to understand, giving him a smile and a soft kiss before gently disengaging their bodies. He sat up as she went back to the bathroom to clean up, reaching to turn on the lamp, then rose to lay his trousers neatly over the sofa with his clothing. He hesitated for a moment, then crossed over to the small chest in the corner. Pulling open the third drawer, he let out a relieved breath that sounded almost like a sob. The drawer still held the pajamas she’d bought him, all three sets neatly folded. Taking out the bottoms of the set on top, a deep navy blue with lighter blue piping that was his favorite, he pulled them on and crawled into bed.

Phryne stood in the bathroom, looking at herself in the mirror. She’d cleaned herself up before pulling on a soft silk slip-style negligee and going to the mirror to remove her makeup, but she was arrested by the look on her face. She had seen Jack’s declaration in his eyes; she had known what he was thinking. And the woman looking back at her in the mirror was wearing a similar expression to his. Phryne knew herself well. She knew that when it came to taking anything seriously, she preferred to be flippant and funny, to make a joke or walk away rather than allow herself to feel anything deeply.

But she also refused to allow herself to be a coward. So she took this moment to look her reflection in the eyes and admit, at least to herself, that she was in love with Jack Robinson. She expected to feel the coldness of fear or a thrust of pain at the thought, but all that came was a slow, suffusing warmth that brought a smile to her face. _I love Jack_ , she thought, and she knew that it was true. She quickly washed her face and patted it dry, then turned to look back at the mirror again as she flicked the light switch, shaking her head at the soft smile that seemingly refused to go away.

Finding Jack comfortably arranged in her bed, his broad shoulders bare, made Phryne’s smile widen. He smiled back at her, his pleasure at her company evident in the expression.

“I found my pajamas,” he rumbled as she climbed into bed beside him.

“But decided not to wear them?” She replied, lifting the duvet slightly to glance beneath it; she was a little disappointed that he wore the pajama pants, to be honest. She liked him naked in her bed.

“Well, it’s too hot for all of them, but I decided that if we planned to sleep tonight, some covering was in order,” his eyes were wicked as they traveled over the ruby red silk of her nightgown.

“Wise, Jack,” she said as she turned off the lamp and slid into bed beside him. She snuggled close, resting her head on his chest, and Jack wrapped his arms around her with a contented sigh.

A thought occurred to Phryne, and she spoke before she thought the better of it. “Were you considering it, Jack? Marrying Concetta?” He stiffened a little, and she shook her head. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer that. It’s none of my—”

“I did consider it, Phryne.” He cut her off, his voice low and sure. “I thought long and hard about it, and I decided that it wouldn’t be fair to Concetta.” She raised her head, her eyes on his. He lifted a hand to gently stroke her hair back from her face. “I had already given my heart away.” He dipped his head to hers, and she shifted up to meet his lips in a soft kiss.

“It’s just as well,” she said lightly to hide her relief as she snuggled down against his chest again. “She seems like a nice woman, and I’d have hated to steal her fiance.” Jack’s half-pleased, half-scandalized laugh was a rumble against her cheek, and she smiled even as she closed her eyes to sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

Over the next month, Inspector Robinson was once again a fixture around Wardlow, joining Phryne and her friends for dinner most nights, and often for breakfast the following morning. Sometimes, she’d join him at his house—a welcome change in what was becoming their routine. She went out twice with friends to dance and drink, but on both occasions, she had arrived at his door in the wee hours, tipsy and sweet with it, snuggling up to him when he tried to put her to bed. The first time, he wondered even as she kissed and touched him whether he should take advantage of her inebriated state, but she was most insistent, and the fact that she’d come to him rather than taking some other man to her bed was enough to convince him that he should allow her to use him for her pleasure and his own. He’d asked her in the morning whether she was angry with him, and her laughter convinced him that she’d known exactly what she was doing.

She was on his mind quite a bit in the daytime as well. When he saw the little blue swallow pin in a pawn shop window, he ducked in to buy it for her without thinking twice. He had heard the truth in her story about the pin her father had hocked, even as she tried to make him think it was a lie, and he thought she would appreciate the sentiment, even if the pin itself wasn’t the same one. He’d been right—her starry eyes and the soft touch of her fingers on his as he pinned it to her blouse had communicated her pleasure, and once their lemonade party was over, she’d gone home with him and had shown him how very pleased she was.

When he’d been called to her aunt’s house to investigate a suspicious death, he’d asked Mrs Stanley to contact her. Her help was invaluable in identifying first the method of that murder and the reason for it—not to mention finding the percussor itself. Their conversation over the victim’s body had given him some rather interesting ideas, though it made him wonder whether he’d have to educate another constable. And when she pressed herself to his side to murmur in his ear during the investigation, he relished their closeness. He happily played along with her threat to psychoanalyze him regarding the raid on the Chinese brothel he’d participated in, and the seduction on her couch that followed that evening was a reward for the both of them.

Things became a little more difficult with the reappearance of her father, especially when he was implicated in the murder that Jack had been called to the Grand Hotel to investigate. He had been pleased rather than concerned when a bag that belonged to Phryne appeared at the crime scene, but her father’s involvement threw a wrench into the works. As it turned out, the Baron had absconded with money Phryne had given him, something like ten thousand pounds. Jack shook his head at the implications of that gift; he’d realized Phryne was wealthy, but this was almost beyond comprehension. And her reactions to her father himself bordered on unreasonable—though that was understandable, given what Jack knew of her childhood. Parents bring out the child in every person, and her childhood was more traumatic than most.

*****

When Phryne realized that her father, whom she’d seen off at the docks weeks before, had in fact never left Melbourne and had been living off of—and gambling with—the money that she’d given him to buy back the family estate, she saw red. It was just like him to lie to her, to her mother, to everyone, and make off with the cash. If it wasn’t for the fact that she loved her mother, and that she knew her mother loved his worthless soul, she would have left him to rot. Instead, she did her best to help Jack prove his innocence, and she played a game of poker with a card shark to win back her funds. She hated cards—her father’s insistence that she learn them at a young age had made her into a shark herself, but she found the whole process distasteful.

By the time the whole thing was over and she’d watched her father walk out of the hotel on his way to Lilydale in the company of her two red-ragger friends, she was ready to scream. Finding Jack in the ballroom putting a record on the phonograph was a surprising development, but it made her ridiculously happy.

He’d been very attentive since they’d come back together, and he regularly took a moment to show her how he felt. When he’d presented her with that swallow pin, her heart had swooped within her breast and it had been all she could do to keep from ravishing him there in the parlor with Dot, Mr Butler, and two adolescent boys in the next room. And his flirting over the case at her Aunt P’s had made her want to find a linen closet or bathroom in which to show him her appreciation. She’d had to make do with seducing him on her sofa in the guise of psychoanalysis. She still wanted to show him the uses of some of the devices he’d described for her from his raid on that brothel. She had a feeling he’d enjoy them as much as he had the percussor.

Standing in the doorway of the ballroom, she watched Jack’s long fingers as he placed the record.

“So, did your father shed any light on our killer’s identity?” He asked.

“Of course not,” Phryne responded dryly, leaning against the doorway. “Another secret in his secret life.” Jack nodded, his face solemn.

“Care for a waltz, Miss Fisher?” Jack gestured to the ballroom with one hand as he set the needle on the phonograph with the other.

“Are you sure you want to risk it?” Her response was coquettish, and he tilted his head at her as he headed into the room.

“Where’s the risk?”

“Well, I have waltzed with the best,” she replied, “French presidents, English princes, American film stars.” As she walked, she shrugged out of her wrap, throwing it into the corner of the room without regard for its fragility as she held his eyes. “The waltz is a very serious dance.”

“And I’m a serious man,” he said, his voice deep and his smirk small as he spoke, enjoying her. He dipped his head to kiss her softly, his mouth warm and soft against her own.

“My mother lost all reason when she was waltzed,” Phryne said, her voice breathy with desire. His eyes were direct, his manner commanding. She’d never realized just how arousing his detective-inspector aspect could be; he hadn’t aimed it directly at her since the early days of their acquaintance.

“Well, if she hadn’t,” Jack said, taking her hand in his and caressing it as he adjusted its placement against his own, “this would be a world without a certain Phryne Fisher in it.” He slid his other hand to rest against her waist. “And what kind of world would that be?”

With that, he began to move, his eyes holding Phryne’s as he moved her around the room in the sensuous motions of the waltz. He led confidently, his hands caressing as he moved around her, his eyes never leaving hers. Phryne was breathing heavily after only a few bars of music, her feelings for this man rising within her until she was certain she might combust. When the music finally drew to a close, he stopped, still holding her hand in one of his, her waist with the other.

“Jack,” she whispered, her eyes still on his.

“I’ve taken the liberty of reserving a room at this fine establishment for the evening,” he said softly, his voice running over her skin like warm water. “If you’d like to join me?”

She could only nod dumbly as he led her from the ballroom and up the stairs, certain that he would satisfy her hunger as only he could.

*****

The next two weeks were blissful for Phryne. Her father was in Lilydale, a tiny village that would afford him few opportunities for mischief, and he was being watched by Bert and Cec, who had strict orders not to let him wander. So she could relax into what was happening with Jack without distraction. When she realized that her tennis tournament was upcoming, and that she’d offered to house Stanley Burroughs and his new bride, she was almost disappointed. With guests in the house, she and Jack would need to be much more discreet, and it would be difficult for her to go to his house for a whole night. _Appearances must be maintained,_ she could hear Aunt P chiding in her ear. Regretfully, she told Jack about her pending guests.

“Although I’m certain that Stanley wouldn’t be scandalized if you were to spend every night here, the fiction that you’re using my guest room would be impossible to maintain. And I’ve never met his bride—they eloped just recently, the rotter—so I have no idea how she’d react to your presence,” Phryne was sitting on his lap on the chaise in the parlor, her head on his shoulder and her fingers toying with his tie. Her position made it hard for Jack to be upset with her, especially since she’d made it clear that these guests were not the sensual kind.

“I suppose we’ll have to make do,” he said. “Perhaps you can come away with me for an evening or two, even if you can’t stay the whole night. How long will they be here?” He smoothed his hand up and down her back as he held her. He loved these moments of stillness—they were rare for Phryne, who was so often in motion.

“Oh, probably not more than a week. It will depend on how the tournament goes, I suppose,” she sighed. “And I won’t be able to assist you on cases while the tournament is on, did I tell you? Aunt P is allowing the use of her grounds, but she’s decided that it’s too much activity for her, having just emptied the house of Doctor Samuels and his patients. She decided to take the train up to Sydney to visit a friend.” Snuggling closer to Jack, Phryne realized that she was truly enjoying this. She’d talked over her day with Jack before, but never from this position, so close and intimate. There was arousal, to be sure, but it was building slowly rather than alighting with a whoosh. It was rather lovely, if she was honest.

“At least Aunt P left Mr Cortland with instructions for the house, so it will only be during the tournament activities that I need to be there,” Phryne continued. “Aunt P’s staff is very good, and Mr Cortland is almost as good at his job as Mr Butler.” She’d loosened his tie and unbuttoned the first buttons of his collar and she was now stroking the skin at the base of his throat softly with her fingertips.

“So what is it that you’ll be doing as part of this tournament?” Jack asked, most of his attention on her fingers. “Do you play?”

“Oh, no,” she said with a soft laugh. “Well, I do play, but not at this level. This is an extension of the charity work I do. I’m organizing the thing, finding lodgings for the players, making sure the papers give it adequate coverage, that sort of thing.”

She snuggled closer, laying her lips against the underside of his jaw, and she felt him stiffen against her. She smiled to herself, and thought _whoosh_. Lifting her head, she met his eyes in the moment before he covered her mouth with his.

“We really should make the most of the time we have in your very comfortable bed,” Jack rumbled between kisses. “Don’t you agree, Miss Fisher?”

Phryne felt a rush of moisture between her legs—she loved it when he called her that, especially in intimate moments. “Absolutely, inspector,” she purred, and she stood to lead him up the stairs to her boudoir.

*****

The first day Phryne’s friends were in town, Jack knew that she’d be out at Mrs Stanley’s house all day—they’d arrived the previous evening, and he’d worked late at the station to keep from missing her before heading home to his own lonely bed. When the call came in to the station about a suspicious death, he leapt to answer it, a little ashamed that he was as interested in seeing Phryne as he was in doing his job.

“Collins, ready the car,” he ordered, gathering his overcoat and hat. Jack was very pleased that Collins had returned. The man seemed a touch more confident than he had before leaving, and Jack knew that Hugh had at least seen his Dorothy already this morning. He wondered idly whether Miss Williams had told Hugh about Constable Martin—he’d been surprised at how highly Martin had seemed to regard Miss Williams after the end of the case at the Grand—but he decided that it wasn’t his business.

The murder victim was a young woman, a tennis player by the look of her whites, and it only took a moment for Jack to realize that she’d been bitten by a spider. It struck him as strange, since he was certain that there were no lethal spiders in this part of Australia, and he said so.

“As far as you know?” Phryne’s voice was a little higher than usual. “What about redbacks?”

“Redback bite wouldn’t be fatal. Whatever it was,” Jack said, looking around, “was clearly in her shoe.” He picked up the white mary jane, inspecting it closely.

“That’s my shoe,” Constance broke in. Apparently, the victim had borrowed her shoes to practice when there’d been some sort of problem with her own. When Constance broke down, Jack allowed her and her husband to go. If he had more questions, he’d find them later.

He turned to Phryne, noting her slight pallor and the stiffness of her body. Interesting. “You showed remarkable restraint, not investigating until I arrived.”

“Well,” she said, seeming a little flustered, but appearing to reach for her usual insouciance, “I’m happy for you to be the scout, Jack, while we wait and see what kind of wildlife we’re dealing with.” She nodded to punctuate her statement. She was definitely flustered, and it amused Jack to see it—Phryne was never flustered. When Dot came in with the broken shoelace from the victim’s shoe, Phryne seemed to recover herself, even sounding completely normal when she spoke to her companion and to Hugh.

The sheer normality of her tone as she began to look through the victim’s things made it even more shocking, then, when she gasped and climbed up onto a bench to get away from the spider that had dropped down from the carpetbag. Jack smothered his surprise at her obvious fear—she was panting and her eyes never left the arachnid that was crawling away as fast as its many legs could manage—and he reached to cover the thing with one of the water glasses on a table at the side of the rotunda.

Once the spider had been dealt with and Hugh and Dorothy had gone, he decided that this new discovery about Phryne Fisher deserved a little teasing. When she threw herself into his arms at his light touch on her shoulder, though, he realized that this was a real phobia, and that he’d have to be careful not to allow teasing to become torment. There was probably a story behind it, and he hoped that she would share it with him sometime.

Phryne realized that she’d made a ninny of herself, but she found that she was strangely unconcerned, given that it had only been Dot, Hugh, and Jack who’d witnessed it. Dot had known about this fear of hers, of course, because spiders did occasionally find their way into Wardlow and someone had to deal with them. Dot might even have mentioned it to Hugh at some point. And Jack—well, she didn’t mind that he knew she had weaknesses. He wouldn’t use it against her.

She was a little surprised when he teased her about it—once she’d realized that it had been his fingers trailing up her arm, she loosened her grip on him—but his reassuring hug had tightened as soon as he saw her distress. She thought he would even have apologized if it hadn’t been for Frederick Burn and his damned camera. She laid her finger across Jack’s lips to stop him from shouting at the man, since she knew that any photos of an angry Jack—which Burn would undoubtedly caption in some horribly suggestive way—would be far worse than the ones of their embrace. And if Burn published the ones of Jack holding her, she couldn’t bring herself to mind.


	11. Chapter 11

_If Angela Lombard thought that she would be getting her hooks into Jack anytime soon,_ Phryne thought, _she had another think coming._ Phryne was certain of Jack’s regard; he’d shown her only that very morning how very much he desired her. But now, as she stood in Angela’s cabin, holding an important piece of evidence behind her back, Phryne eyed the younger woman as the party raged on around them.

“Say, did I mention that Jack and me had a swell talk this afternoon?” Angela said with forced cheer, her eyes hard on Phryne. She was obviously angry—she must have seen that puppy Terence Lawson moving in on Phryne. Now Angela was striking out to defend her territory, using what she must have considered to be prime material. She had no idea who she was dealing with.

“No, you didn’t,” Phryne said, her smile all teeth.

“He sure knows how to unhook a gal’s dress,” Angela purred, “must be those strong, manly fingers of his.” Phryne studied her for a beat. She didn’t doubt that Jack had done something to give this girl the idea that she could take Phryne on, but she also didn’t doubt that it hadn’t gone nearly so far as Angela would like her to think.

“Well,” she drawled, “it’s so much better when he does it with his teeth.” Angela’s face fell, and Phryne moved past her, tucking the contract under her shrug. She’d be discussing this conversation with Jack, to be sure.

Later, in Jack’s office, she tried to ignore how cute he looked when he was teasing her with that horrible creature in the jar. She knew that Jack valued her assistance—he’d made her a special constable, after all—but she could also tell that he was terribly pleased to have something to hold over her.

“Do you think you could get rid of that now?” She said through her teeth.

“It’s important evidence, Miss Fisher,” he said, straight-faced. His eyes were dancing with humor, though, so she played into his teasing (the nasty arachnid was encased behind glass, after all) and flashed him her thigh.

“So is this,” she said, “but you’re not seeing it until _that_ disappears.” She mostly meant the contract that was tucked in her garter, but she knew that her nod toward her thigh could also be extended to include what was high and to the right. The longer he taunted her with that thing, the harder he’d have to work later to get her naked. With a tilt of his head and a very sexy sideways glance—god, he knew just how to get her juices flowing—Jack sat down and dropped the jar into his desk drawer. His lips twitched as he made a two-fingered “gimme” gesture that made Phryne tilt her own head, imagining what those two fingers could do. As she was certain he had intended, the naughty man. Showing him the contract, she shared her thoughts on its origin.

“She didn’t mention any of this when I interviewed her earlier,” he said, sitting back in his chair with his hands folded across his stomach.

“Before or after you helped her out of her dress?” Phryne said sweetly, raising one eyebrow at his knowing smile. “Don’t worry Jack,” she went on, leaning over his desk to give him a good view down the front of her dress. “I let her know that although your hands are quite adept, I liked it better when you undid my clothing with your teeth.” At Jack’s helpless bark of laughter, she smiled, turning to sashay out of his office, confident that he’d follow her as soon as he could.

*****

Phryne took Jack’s hand as they exited the stands between matches the next day to take a closer look at the incriminating photo that Angela Lombard had handed over. She was still tingling slightly from having her shoulder and thigh pressed against his as they sat to watch the match. It was ridiculous—just sitting beside Jack, fully clothed and barely touching, could arouse her more than being body-to-body with another man. _There are some possibilities for seduction in that,_ she thought. Now, pulling Jack into a secluded corner, she fished her magnifier out of her purse and angled the photo so that they could both see it.

“Jack, is that Constance in the background?” Jack leaned closer, his hand on the small of her back and his chest nudging her shoulder.

“Yes.”

“What’s she doing?” Phryne frowned a little, trying to make out the details of the picture.

“Having some kind of trouble with her tennis dress?” Jack shook his head, a slight frown shaping his mouth.

“Not her dress,” Phryne breathed. “Of course. The champagne, the sage tea, her sudden disappearance from the tennis circuit.” She could feel the pieces falling into place in her mind. “It all makes perfect sense!”

“Well, I wish you would explain it to me, Miss Fisher,” Jack said, his voice half exasperated, half admiring. He loved watching her work, her mind racing to make connections.

Phryne smiled up at him and leaned in to press an enthusiastic kiss against his lips.

“I’ll explain on the way,” she said, and took his arm to lead him back to the tennis ground.

Half an hour later, Stanley and Constance Burroughs were in police custody, one charged with murder, the other with withholding information. Jack escorted them, with Hugh Collins’ help, to the police car; Phryne stopped in the front hall of her aunt’s house to telephone Mr Butler and ask him to pack up the Burroughses’ things—she didn’t want to play host to a murderer and a former friend any longer. When she stepped out of the front door, she saw Jack speaking with Angela Lombard, whose hand was stroking his lapel. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she thought she could guess—Mrs Lombard was propositioning Jack one last time, and Jack was turning her down.

It rather amazed Phryne that she was so certain that Jack wouldn’t be taking the lovely American’s invitation. So many men of her acquaintance would have. But she knew Jack, and even if she’d given him permission to explore other women’s charms, she knew that he likely wouldn’t. He was traditional that way, and he loved her. The knowledge warmed her in a way that she would never have expected it to. Jack loved her, and she not only wanted him to, she welcomed it.

When Angela walked away, defeated, Phryne strolled down to meet Jack beside the police car. She stepped close and took his tie between her fingers. He smiled down at her, his face calm.

“Would you care to join me for a round of tennis, Jack?” She smirked up at him, her hands moving to stroke his chest through his overcoat. He tilted his head at her, his smile turning wicked.

“Are you propositioning me, Miss Fisher?” His voice was low.

“Well, I wouldn’t say no to a little… extracurricular activity, inspector,” she purred up at him, her eyes laughing.

“I’ll stop by my house and change after I drop these two off for booking,” he said, his fingers touching hers lightly. He tried to keep his professional distance when they were on a case, but exceptions had to be made. “I can do the paperwork later.”

“Wonderful, inspector,” Phryne said with a smile. “I’ll expect you back here within the hour, then.”

“I look forward to it, Miss Fisher,” Jack replied.

Jack returned to Mrs Stanley’s house just shy of an hour later—he had left Collins to book the Burroughses and gone straight to his house to change into his tennis whites. He was looking forward to seeing Phryne’s reaction to his appearance in them—he would bet that she had no idea that he played—and he wasn’t disappointed. When he was shown into the parlor where Phryne was waiting for him, reading what was probably an illegal sort of book, the expression on her face when she saw him shifted from pleased to almost predatory.

“Thank you, Mr Cortland,” she said smoothly to the butler, who’d walked Jack in. “The inspector and I have some business to discuss, so please close the door on your way out. We’ll want some refreshments later, but probably not for an hour or more.” Jack pressed his lips together tightly to smother a smile as the butler left.

“Business, Miss Fisher?” He drawled at her, coming to stand beside the couch where she was sitting. “I thought we were going to play tennis.”

“And we are, Jack,” she said, taking his hand and pulling him down to sit beside her. “Just as soon as our business is concluded.” Swinging herself to straddle his lap, she stroked her hands down his chest in his off-white sweater vest. “This tennis costume is very attractive on you,” she purred, her hands dropping to his waistband and flipping open his belt. Jack settled his hands on her hips and watched her face; he could feel himself hardening beneath her stroking palms. He grinned at her mischievous expression—she was smiling open-mouthed, her small pink tongue touching her upper teeth as her lashes swept up to let her eyes meet his.

“Then why are you trying to take it off of me?” He asked, humor in his voice, his hands moving to slide up her thighs under her tennis dress.

“Well, I was reading some very _enlightening_ literature while you were away, and I’ll admit that it made me rather miss your presence.” She’d freed his cock, slipping her hands beneath him to bring his balls out of his trousers as well, and she was busily stroking him to full hardness.

“Ah, I see,” he said, slightly breathless. He moved one hand to cup her sex, pushing the loose center of her knickers aside; he realized that she was very damp already, and his questing fingers slid easily around her clitoris and into her channel. Phryne gasped, her hands pausing as she took in the feeling of his penetrating digits. “And did you… prepare for my eventual return, then?”

“Um, prepare?” She’d closed her eyes, Jack saw, and she was biting her lower lip as she moved her hips on his fingers. Pushing down on her hip and up with his fingers inside her, he answered his own question when he felt the rubber cap situated deep within.

“Oh good,” he rumbled, his own eyes half-closing as she resumed her rhythmic pumping of his cock with one hand, her other lightly scraping the tender skin of his testicles with her nails in a way that sent shivers down his spine. “You did,” and he pulled his fingers out of her to grasp both of her hips and center her over him.

Phryne protested at his first withdrawal, but when she realized what he had in mind, she moved to help him, pressing her knees into the settee so that he could draw her knickers aside enough to breach her with his cock. With a hum of pleasure, she slid down his length, settling her hands on his shoulders. Jack’s head fell back to rest on the back of the couch, his hands under her skirt settling on her hips as he urged her into motion. Licking her lips, Phryne began to rise and fall upon him, squeezing his hips with her knees; Jack spread his legs a little to give her a more secure base, and she sped up.

“God, you are so beautiful,” he murmured as he watched her face flush with pleasure, her mouth opening to gasp for air. She slid one hand into the hair at the back of his head and gripped hard, pulling slightly as she dropped her mouth to kiss him, her tongue sliding wetly against his. Jack shifted his hands around to cup her buttocks and pull her closer with a short jerk each time she fell down upon him; he wanted her to feel him deep inside, and if he got the angle right… she made a small, surprised noise and he repeated the motion that had engendered it. Her hand on his shoulder became a claw, her nails digging into his muscle, and the hand in his hair gripped even harder as he hit that same spot again and again.

With a soft scream that she muffled against his mouth, Phryne fell down upon Jack one last time as she came, her thighs shaking uncontrollably against his forearms as he held her tightly. He was still hard, though the rippling of her internal muscles was pulling him closer and closer to the edge of orgasm. He kissed her as she recovered, his tongue sweeping into her mouth as if to scoop up her cries of pleasure.

When she could support her weight again, Phryne pushed up on her knees, sliding up his length until only the head of his cock was still within her body. She braced herself with her forearms on his shoulders, clasping her hands behind the back of his neck and holding her frame rigid.

“Finish, Jack,” she said, her voice deep and languid. With a hungry kiss, Jack tightened his hands on her bottom and began to thrust, his position below her giving him leverage to sling his hips hard into her body. Phryne whimpered at the feeling of him pounding into her; with each thrust, his pelvis hit her clitoris with a smack. When his climax hit, he rolled his lips together to contain his shout of release, and she pushed her head into her arms to muffle her groan as she went over a second time.

They sat that way, joined, for a few minutes, while their breathing steadied. Eventually, Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, which he handed to her. Phryne took it and slid off of Jack’s lap with a sigh. She wiped the excess moisture from the tops of her thighs, then tidied Jack up and tucked him away with a tender pat. Curling up beside him, she laid her head on his shoulder and he wrapped his arms around her to pull her close. After another little while, Phryne spoke.

“I suppose we should get to that tennis game, just so that the report to Aunt P of how I cared for her house during the tournament will include the fact that I actually used the court.”

“And it’ll give us a reason to be all sweaty, as well,” Jack replied, straight-faced.

Phryne giggled. “Come on, then, Jack,” she said with a laugh. “Let’s see what kind of game you have to offer!” She leaned in to give him a smacking kiss, and he returned it sweetly.

“I think you’ll be surprised at just how good I can be,” he responded with a lift of his eyebrows.

“Oh, I know that you are very… skilled, Jack,” she purred, standing. “But how are you at tennis?” He returned her cheeky grin and stood to follow her out the french doors into the sunlight.


	12. Chapter 12

It wasn’t particularly logical, she knew, but when the news came that the Baron’s stalker had disappeared from the hospital, it was all Phryne could do to keep from strangling her father. The man was a menace—every time he came into her life, he caused trouble.

“Jack, why does he break everything he touches?” She said, exasperated. She had just gotten off the phone with Bert in Lilydale, instructing him and Cec to bring the Baron home.

“I’ve no idea,” Jack responded, “but we’d appreciate any information the Baron could give us.” He was standing in her entryway, overcoat on and hat in hand, ready to go down to City South. He’d stationed two constables at her door, knowing that whoever that man was—and he hadn’t been conscious enough to be questioned until today, when he’d apparently woken so completely that he’d murdered a nurse and seriously injured a constable in his bid to escape—he might well come back here after Phryne.

“I just wish my father would tell me who that man is!” She said, pacing restlessly. “Why won’t he let us help him?”

Phryne’s feelings for her father were terribly mixed. On the one hand, she loathed him—his drunken rants when she and Janey were children were seared into her memory, as were the terrible punishments that followed for whatever minor infraction he thought they’d committed. He’d sold everything of value she, Janey, and her mother had ever owned, spending the proceeds on alcohol and leaving her mother to scrape together enough nourishment for herself and her children from whatever scraps she could beg or borrow. She was reasonably certain that he’d been unfaithful to her mother, as well, and he had certainly made Margaret Fisher’s life a misery, even after he’d inherited the baronetcy and the funds that went with it. He was reckless, feckless, and careless, and he didn’t appear to have anyone’s best interests at heart except his own.

But on the other hand, she loved him—he was her father, and when he’d been sober (admittedly not all that often), he had been loving and funny and charming. If he remembered a birthday or anniversary, he would make a spectacular event out of it, taking the person being celebrated on fantastic adventures to the amusement park or a fancy dinner. When he was sober, she could almost see what had drawn her mother to him, like a moth to his flame. It really was too bad that his sober moments were few and far between.

Phryne knew that she herself had inherited some of Henry Fisher’s charisma, but she refused to be like him. She believed in living her life to the fullest, but never if doing so would cause pain to others, particularly to those she cared for.

“We’ll figure it out, Phryne,” Jack’s voice was low and soothing. She was amazed at how he could calm her down with just a few words. Phryne went to him, propping her hands on his hips and leaning her forehead against his chest. Jack raised his hands to her satin-covered shoulders, sliding them up and down her arms and moving the fabric of her robe against her skin.

“I know we will, Jack,” she said. “I just wish we didn’t have to. If only he’d leave us to our peaceful murder investigations!” She lifted her head up to meet his eyes, her smile bright.

“He’s a Fisher—never content to leave a ripple when he can leave a splash,” Jack smiled down into her eyes, letting out a huffing laugh at her expression of mock affront. “Be careful, all right?” He bent his head to kiss her, his tongue slipping between her lips in the smallest of touches.

“I will,” she sighed, as he moved away from her and opened the door. “You be careful too. We don’t know what this man’s motives are.” Jack nodded, then turned to make his way down the front walk, placing his hat on his head as he went.

*****

After it was all over, and Eugene Fisher had been remanded into the custody of the Victorian Police Force, Phryne sat on the bench beside her father, her stomach roiling with tension. He had apparently given up all hope of reconciling with her mother, and she had a moment of realization that once again, she’d have to be the adult in this relationship. She’d have to ensure that her father got home, since he couldn’t seem to manage it. She closed her eyes for a moment. Why could he never take responsibility for himself?

“Better pack your bags, then,” she said quietly, knowing that her reluctance would echo in her voice. “We’ll leave at first light.”

“What do you mean?” The Baron looked at her, confused. “My ship has sailed.”

“There are other means of transportation,” Phryne responded. She studied her father. For once, his larger-than-life personality seemed muted, and he looked his age. It seemed to Phryne that he had at last shed the mask that he usually wore with what seemed like effortless ease; he was despairing, and the view into his unprotected heart was shockingly intimate. Phryne wondered whether this was what he’d shown her mother, all those years ago at the Twilight Waltz. If he let her mother see this side of him, it might explain why she continued to forgive him for things that seemed to be unforgivable. It didn’t excuse either his behavior or the fact that her mother hadn’t protected her or Janey from him, but it did offer a reason why Margaret Fisher had never left him completely.

Leaving the Baron spluttering over the idea of flying with her, Phryne walked away toward Jack, who stood some distance away, trusting her to deal with her father. She caught her breath at the idea of leaving Jack, her fine, upstanding man, for the sake of her father, who was neither of those things.

Jack turned to watch her, his head tilting and eyebrows descending over concerned eyes at the devastated look on her face. He took the three steps to meet her, reaching out his hands to cup her upper arms.

“What is it, Phryne?” His voice was low, and his eyes searched hers. She let out an unsteady breath.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to take him all the way home, Jack,” she said quietly.

“What do you mean?” Jack’s head came up slightly, and his eyes widened with alarm.

“He’s dodged out of ship travel twice now, and if he doesn’t get home, Mother is going to leave him,” she glanced up at Jack, defeated. “I have to do something.”

“What are you suggesting, Phryne?” Jack’s hands spasmed on her arms, and he tilted his head, trying to grasp her meaning.

“I have a plane, I can fly him there,” was her simple answer.

“All the way to England?” Jack’s response was incredulous. “That will take weeks—months, possibly,” he forced his hands to loosen, and rubbed them up and down her arms. “There has to be another answer.”

“I don’t know what it is,” she said, laying her hands on his chest, her eyes pleading into his. She found herself hoping that Jack would have an alternative plan. She knew that her thought processes when it came to her parents were often less than logical, but she hadn’t been able to come up with any other ideas. And though the idea of leaving Melbourne—of leaving Jack—for months definitely did not appeal, neither did the idea of allowing her parents’ marriage to crumble when she could do something to prevent it.

“All right, let’s think,” Jack said. He searched his mind for possibilities, releasing Phryne and planting his hands on his hips. Glancing over at the Baron, he said, “Do you really think he’ll run this time? I thought he was running because his cousin was pursuing him?”

“That may be, but he’s missed his ship anyway,” Phryne said, her hands catching his lapels to hold him there with her. “They’ll sell his cabin off when they get to Perth.”

“So we’ll contact the shipping office, let them know that he was delayed as a… a material witness in a police investigation, and that they should hold his berth for him.”

“And then what? The ship won’t wait for him!”

“How long will it take for the ship to get to Perth? Could he take a train or something to meet it?” Jack knew that there had to be a way to make this work.

“Only a day, two at the most, and the train will take at least four,” Phryne’s eyes were shiny with unshed tears.

“All right, what about this,” Jack said, his hands coming up to grip both of hers, holding them against his chest. “You fly him to Perth and put him on the ship. Then you’d only be gone a day or two at the most.”

“And I could send mother a telegram from Perth to let her know that he’s on the ship,” Phryne mused. “That could work, Jack!” Her face had brightened as she thought. Could it really be so simple? She threw her arms around him, uncaring that her father sat only a short distance away. “You’re brilliant!”

Chuckling, Jack hugged her back. His heart began beating normally again—he’d felt it speed up with a rush of adrenaline when she proposed flying all the way to England; he knew that she cared for him, but the world had many marvels, male and otherwise, to tempt a woman like Phryne. He buried his face in her hair, pressing a kiss to the side of her head and closing his eyes. He was a little amazed that she’d capitulated so easily; usually, when Phryne settled on a plan, it would take a miracle to get her to change her mind. Maybe she truly hadn’t wanted to go. Maybe she wanted to stay here, with him. He breathed deeply, then loosened his hold.

“I’d better go if I’m to contact the shipping line and ensure that his berth remains booked,” he said, setting her at arms length, and wishing that he could kiss her as deeply as he wanted to.

“Will you come by for dinner?” Phryne watched his mouth, willing his lips to form the word _yes_ —she hoped that she could convince him to stay with her tonight. She wished that her plane had three seats, or that train travel was faster so that he could join her for the flight back. At least she’d only be gone for two days—one there, one back—which was far better than the six to ten weeks it would take for the trip to England and back. That flight sounded wonderful, actually, but not with her father as a companion. Maybe Jack would be able to go with her sometime.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” he said, smiling down at her as she grinned her relief.

“Maybe you could drive us to the airfield in the morning?” She stroked her hands down his lapels again, looking up at him through her lashes to make it clear that she intended for him to still be at Wardlow at that point.

Jack’s smile turned wicked. “It would be my pleasure, Miss Fisher,” he said.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter! Posting proximity to Valentine's day is purely coincidental, I assure you. Thank you all for sticking with this—it's been an absolute pleasure!

The two days Phryne had intended to be gone turned into ten—she called the evening after her departure to tell Jack that she’d had an equipment malfunction that had necessitated an emergency landing near the tiny town of Wandering, about 120 kilometers short of Perth. They’d managed to hire a car to get the Baron to his ship on time, but once shed of her father, Phryne had had a devil of a time finding a replacement part for her airplane. It had taken six days to find the necessary part, then two more days for Phryne to make the repair.

“I had to take the entire engine apart, Jack,” she said when she called him when it was finally done. “It took hours! Thankfully, the weather has been lovely—it’s not yet high summer, which I’m told gets ridiculously hot—and I’ve been invited to stay with a local couple who live nearby.”

“I had no idea that you knew how to rebuild an airplane engine, Phryne,” Jack said, holding the telephone receiver close to his ear and closing his eyes to better concentrate on her voice. He was thankful that he’d swung his office door shut before taking the call. “But I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at anything you can do at this point.”

“Oh, I’m certain that I can still surprise you, darling,” she purred, humor lacing her voice.

“I don’t doubt it,” was Jack’s dry response. “When do you think you’ll be back to begin?”

“I’m heading out at first light tomorrow, so I should be back around lunchtime. Will you come round for dinner?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” he said softly.

“I got your letters,” Phryne was sitting in the hall at the Watts’s house, which was considerably larger than any other house in this small town. Her host, Matthew, was a lovely man, and although he had been clear that he would welcome her presence in his bed, she hadn’t felt the urge to take him up on it. First because she rather liked his wife, who reminded her a little of how Dot had acted when they’d first met, and second because he wasn’t a certain lanky detective inspector. She thought vaguely that it should have worried her that Jack had taken over her libido this way, but it didn’t. Just the fact that he hadn’t asked her not to take other men to her bed made it feel all right to not want to.

“I got yours, too,” he rumbled now in her ear. “You are a very naughty woman, Miss Fisher.”

“Mmm, and you are a rather naughty man, when you let yourself be,” she smiled at his chuff of laughter. “I look forward to continuing our descriptions in person.”

“As do I,” he said softly. “Come home safely, Phryne.”

“As always, darling. Sleep well.” She hung up the phone, her fingers trailing along the handset, wishing that she was already there.

*****

Jack stood outside Wardlow, his heart in his throat. He was three hours early for dinner, and his shift wasn’t over for two hours yet, but he hadn’t been able to stay at the station a moment longer. Dorothy Williams had called the station to let them know that Miss Fisher had arrived safely, and the hour and a half that Jack had known that she was close had been torture. Now that he was here, though, he was having second thoughts. He didn’t want her to feel smothered by his presence; perhaps he should go back to work until his shift ended. He was turning to leave when the door opened.

“Inspector Robinson, so nice to see you,” Mr Butler said. He stepped back to allow Jack to enter, his eyes twinkling. The older man had surely seen him waffling on the porch, and so Jack’s return smile was sheepish.

“Miss Fisher is in the bath, sir,” Mr Butler went on as he closed the door behind Jack and helped him off with his overcoat; he hung it and Jack’s hat on one of the hooks beside the door. “If you’d like to go up?”

“Oh, I… I wouldn’t want to presume…” Jack stammered. He’d known that Phryne’s staff was aware of their affair, but this was a little more obvious than he’d expected.

“If you’ll pardon my saying so, sir, I think she’s excited to see you,” Mr Butler replied, his voice calm. “Dinner will be served at seven; we’re having beef Wellington, potato gratin, and fresh asparagus, and I’ve made a lovely trifle for dessert.”

Jack’s lips curved in a small smile. Mr Butler had just listed off some of Jack’s favorite dishes. He nodded slightly, understanding the man’s unspoken message—he was not just expected, but anticipated. With a nod, Mr Butler left Jack standing in the entryway, and Jack took the hint. He headed for the stairs.

With a deep breath, Jack pushed open the door to Phryne’s boudoir. He glanced around the door, his eyes finding her immediately. She was indeed in the bath, the back of her head and her bare shoulders visible over the edge of the tub. Jack closed the door quietly behind himself, turning the lock as he did so. Then he shrugged out of his jacket, stepped out of his shoes, pulled off his socks, and began loosening his tie as he crossed the room to her side.

“What is it, Dot?” Phryne said, having heard the door open. She was so tired, and at the same time so thrilled to be home. It was lovely to be in her own bathtub, breast deep in deliciously scented water, preparing herself for her lover.

“Not Dot,” came a deep voice behind her, and Phryne spun to face him with a gasp.

“Jack!” Her joy at seeing him—and at seeing that he was in the process of disrobing—was evident on her face. She felt the grin stretching her lips. “You’re early!”

“I couldn’t wait any longer to see you,” he said, as he slid his braces off his shoulders and pulled his singlet over his head. “Technically, I’m on call, but Collins knows where to reach me if there’s an emergency.”

Phryne’s eyes devoured him; the strong shoulders and muscular chest that were already on display made her mouth water. He dropped his hands to his trouser fastenings, and paused in his forward motion to slip them and his smalls off before resuming his measured walk toward her. He was already aroused, she saw, and she licked her suddenly dry lips.

“Budge up,” he said softly, and to her delight, when she shifted forward in the tub, he climbed in behind her.

“You’re going to smell of lily-of-the-valley,” she said, snuggling back against him as his arms came around her.

“As long as I smell of you,” he said, and pressed his mouth to hers, his tongue dipping between her lips to taste her. Phryne threw herself into the kiss. She had missed him, missed the feel of his body against hers, missed the taste of him, missed his laugh and his smile and the tilt of his head. One of her hands reached up to grasp the back of his head, holding his mouth to hers as she kissed him back.

“I missed you, Jack,” she sighed when they came up for air.

“I missed you too,” he said, softly, “rather desperately.” His mouth took hers again, his kiss growing in urgency.

Jack’s hands roamed her skin, cupping her breasts and stroking her stomach. As he continued to kiss her, Phryne took one of his hands in hers and drew it down below the water to tuck it between her thighs. He took the hint, sliding his fingers to rub her clitoris lightly, tracing figure eights around it with his fingertips. Phryne whimpered softly against his mouth. He pressed a little harder, stopping at the crossover point to make tiny circles against the little bundle of nerves. Phryne’s hand on his wrist squeezed, and he swept his fingers down to press two inside her body, his thumb continuing to sweep her clitoris. Phryne bucked against him, her bottom rubbing over his hardened cock as she moved with his plunging fingers.

Phryne lifted one of her legs to drape over Jack’s knee, opening herself up to make more room between her thighs for his hand. He adjusted, pressing the heel of his hand to her clit so that he could reach deeper with his fingers. Phryne raised her hand from his wrist to the edge of the tub, and she writhed in his arms, uncaring that her movements were slopping water over the sides. Jack sped his rhythm up, pressing his fingers to the front of her passage with each stroke. Phryne’s head fell back to rest on his shoulder as she concentrated on the feel of his hand; Jack dropped his mouth to her neck, pressing kisses to its arch and the underside of her jaw before sucking her earlobe into his mouth.

Phryne’s wail as she climaxed was music to Jack’s ears, and the feeling of her body spasming around his fingers hit him like a drink of water after a drought. He clenched his jaw and his abdominal muscles to hold back his own orgasm as Phryne went limp against him. He softly slid his fingers out of her body, resting his hand on her abdomen; she turned her head to tenderly kiss him, her hand clutching his hair gentling to cup the back of his neck.

“I’m glad you joined me, Jack,” she said, her forehead resting against his, her hand stroking his face as they lay back in the tub.

“I’m glad you didn’t throw me out for my cheek,” he said quietly. “I didn’t even think—” He stopped speaking as she laid a finger on his lips.

“You were more than welcome, darling,” she smiled, knowing that although he was sure of her attraction, he also didn’t want to assume that he had an open invitation. “In fact, I was toying with the idea of heading down to the station after my bath, just to see you.”

“Were you?” His smile was shyly pleased.

“Mmm,” she said. “You saved me the trip.”

“Whatever will we do with the extra time?” He studied her face, stroking her hair back from her cheek with a wet hand. “Mr Butler made sure to inform me that dinner wasn’t until seven.”

“I suppose we’ll just have to occupy ourselves somehow,” Phryne said with a mock sigh. She glanced over the edge of the tub. “I’m afraid we’ve made a mess.”

“We should probably clean that up. I wouldn’t want to put Miss Williams to any additional trouble,” he said solemnly, his eyes dancing. Phryne smirked at him and stood, reaching for the fluffy towel laid on a stool beside the tub. As she stepped out onto the damp rug, Jack watched the water sheeting off of her skin, giving it an additional shine; he admired the curve of her hip and her small nipples, still pebbled from the touch of his hands.

“You need a towel, Jack—I’ll be right back,” Phryne wound the towel around her body and turned to wander into her dressing room; she returned after a minute, wrapped in her black silk robe, unfolding a clean towel. Seeing her approach, Jack stood, pulling the plug on the tub.

Phryne held up the towel between her hands and gestured with it; Jack tilted his head at her and stepped, dripping, out of the tub. She moved closer, wrapping the towel around his upper body and rubbing gently to dry his skin. She reached around to dry his back and buttocks, then dropped to her knees as she brought the towel around to his cock. His erection had subsided as he sat alone in the warm water of the tub, but her soft massage through the plush toweling brought it thundering back to life. Jack’s breath caught as she tended to him; after a moment, she cupped one hand under his balls and wrapped the towel around the base of his cock with the other, then covered his aching head with her mouth.

Jack groaned, watching her—he loved the feeling of Phryne’s mouth and tongue, but he also loved watching her lips wrap around him. Phryne pushed down the length of his cock, swirling her tongue all the way. She lightly rubbed his balls through the towel, letting its nubbly texture act as another sort of massage; she was rewarded by Jack’s hands pulling the towel away from her hair and his fingers tunneling in on either side of her head. Phryne bobbed over him, then wrapped her lips around his tip and sucked, her tongue finding the sensitive place just underneath his head. Jack’s hands spasmed in her hair, and he drew her away and up his body, wrapping his arms around her. He lifted her feet off the floor, and in two strides was at the edge of her bed.

“Condom?” he growled, knowing that she probably wasn’t wearing her dutch cap. Phryne turned to pull open the drawer of the bedside table, and Jack caught the tie of her robe, pulling it free.

Phryne laughed, spinning to drop the robe from her shoulders. Jack caught her around the waist, pulling her to him and covering her mouth with his. His hands swept down her back and then back up her sides to catch her under the arms. He lifted her, tossing her gently to the center of the bed, where she lay, laughing. He reached into the drawer for a French letter, dropping his head to roll it up his length. When he looked back at her, Phryne had pushed up to her knees and was beckoning him to join her. Jack climbed onto the bed and knee-walked across, coming to press his chest to hers and wrap his arms around her waist as he kissed her again.

Phryne wound her arms around Jack’s shoulders and pulled herself up to wrap her legs around his waist. He dropped a hand between them to guide himself inside her, and she settled over him with a sigh. Phryne crossed her ankles behind his back and they rocked together, whispering their pleasure. Pulling away slightly, Jack arched his back to take Phryne’s breast between his lips; she leaned out to give him better access, and rested a hand on the mattress for support, undulating her hips to move his cock inside her body.

“Phryne,” he whispered against her skin, relishing the feel of her nipple on his tongue.

“My Jack,” she whispered as she slid her body on his, her heels digging into his flexing buttocks.

When the urge to move became too much to bear, Jack lowered her gently back to the bed, bringing his mouth back to hers. She planted her feet on the mattress at his sides and he began to thrust, wrapping one hand around to anchor her hip. Phryne groaned at their joint movements, her head dropping to hang off the side of the bed, her hands moving up his arms to catch the backs of his shoulders. Jack’s pumping hips sent pleasure spiralling through Phryne. He set his mouth at the hollow of her neck; he could tell that he was about to come, so he lifted his head, watching her face.

“Phryne, go over,” he groaned, adding a scoop of his hips to each thrust, trying to hit her clit with his pelvis each time he seated himself fully within her. “I can’t— I—”

Phryne lifted her head, her blue eyes hazy with pleasure, and caught his bottom lip between her teeth.

“Phryyyy-neee!” Her name was a moan as his climax hit, his hips stuttering into hers. Phryne kissed him, soothing the place where her teeth had pinched, her own release rolling gently through her. Panting, Jack pulled her back fully onto the bed and laid his head on her breast, his softening cock sliding out of her body.

They lay there a moment before Jack rose to take care of the condom. She’d tucked herself under the covers, but she’d kept them turned down, a clear invitation for him to join her. She was watching him.

“What is it?” he said, raising a hand to smooth down his hair, which he thought must be standing on end.

“I just— I want you to know—” Phryne shook her head. When he’d disengaged from her to get up, her first thought was that he was leaving, and it was all she could do not to clutch at him to keep him with her. Then, when she realized what he was doing and that he was coming back, her heart had swelled, spreading warmth through her body. It was the strangest feeling, as if he was the sun and she a flower that required his heat to bloom. He climbed into bed, his eyes on her face.

“Are you all right, love?” He reached for her, and she moved into his arms, settling against his chest with a sigh. Suddenly, with his arms around her, the words didn’t seem so scary after all.

“I love you, Jack,” she said softly, and felt him catch his breath, his arms spasming around her. “I don’t know what that means for the long term, but you should know.” She tilted her head up to meet his eyes, which were bright with what looked like tears.

“Phryne,” he breathed, his mouth tilting in a smile more brillant for its rarity, “I love you too, so much. The rest will sort itself out.” He leaned down to kiss her softly. “Welcome home.”

Phryne wound herself around him to deepen the kiss. She dimly recalled a quote that she’d read once and scoffed at, but now it sprang to mind, the truest of words: “Where we love is home.” And where she loved was not this house, nor even Melbourne; it was right where she was, wrapped in Jack Robinson’s arms. She was finally home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phryne’s quote is by Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr:  
> “Where we love is home,  
> Home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts.”


End file.
